It Goes On
by UConn Fan
Summary: Twenty years post-"The Telling". Why is Vaughn suddenly back in Sydney's life almost two decades after he saw her last?
1. Default Chapter

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
Authors Note: This is, by far, my most personal fanfic. You think you're living in De-Nile after the finale? I've been in De-Nile since I was six about my parents divorce (I've been there so long that I'm the largest property holder in the area; thanks to JJ taxes are now going through the roof!). Wednesday would have been their twenty fifth anniversary (they seperated/divorced when I was six - I'll be eighteen in October). Now it's becoming obvious that after many valiant attempts and years of dating on and off, my parents will never remarry and in fact my father *likes* the man my mother intends to marry (let's not talk about those gray hairs). The point is that if I can't get my Mom and Daddy back together again, I can at least get Vaughn and Sydney back together again. Thus, this is my therapy.   
  
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She never minded being alone, never disliked the solitude, but she had never thought it would turn out that way.  
  
  
  
Claire would be coming home in a few weeks. Thanksgiving break was just a handful of days away; then her daughter's aged Jeep would blare into the driveway, and for a while, her nest wouldn't feel so empty. Sydney would hear about college boys, college classes and how much she missed her mother's cooking. Then together they'd make plans to make the nearly seven hundred mile trek south to Los Angeles, to spend Christmas with Will, to stop by the Dixon's and to visit with the Flinkman's. After Christmas they'd plan on going even further north, to visit a tiny, well-surveillanced home on Puget Sound.  
  
  
  
Over the Christmas break her daughter would turn eighteen, and the college freshman would predictably tease her mother about the far too few months that separated Sydney from her fifty first birthday. Not that she minded the banter. One of the best discoveries over the past nearly two decades had been learning that while she'd always loved her child, as time progressed, Sydney had begun to legitimately enjoy the person that Claire had become. From there, it had only been a natural progression from daughter to friend, a transformation Sydney had never been able to successfully master with her own parents.  
  
  
  
Jack and Irina lived near Seattle, in a CIA watched home. Whether Jack lived there for convenience - in Seattle he was far closer to his daughter & granddaughter than he would have been in Los Angeles - or by choice, she never dared to ask. Both were in their mid-seventies. Jack had relocated to the Washington area just a handful of years earlier.   
  
  
  
Although they had physically aged well, time had not been easy on any of them. Over twenty years had passed since she had reappeared in an alley in Hong Kong, having lost two years. Nearly a year passed from the time she returned, until she discovered that not only had her father been under the guise of working for Sloane, but was also working with her mother. Perhaps her father's heart had been in the right place, along with her mother, but she had despised being left in the dark. The CIA hadn't even been aware that Jack had been working with Irina; instead he'd been walking a tightrope for nearly three years, spending two of those years desperately searching for his daughter, while trying to take down the most evil man he'd ever encounter.  
  
  
  
Their efforts though, had not been in vain. Thirteen months after Sydney reappeared, Arvin Sloane and all of his Rambaldi artifacts and other tools of his evil trade, were apprehended and confiscated by the U.S. Government. Three months later in September, just as Michael and Kate Vaughn were welcoming their first child into the world, Sydney left the CIA for good. Consequently, she left Los Angeles, unable to find a job she wanted and to escape the constant memories that haunted her there.  
  
  
  
To his credit, Vaughn had worked his ass off after her return. Admittedly, it had taken him nearly eight months, or so it seemed to her, before he could look her in the eye again. Still, he did everything he could to help her with the CIA, and to make her transition easier. But by then it was too late, the damage was done. Will and Dixon had been the ones she found herself turning to, even Marshall, Carrie and Eric. Life had to go on; that was one thing that she had picked up along the way. He had his wife, and he was an honorable man. Sydney never suspected that he would give his marriage anything less than his full devotion and attention, just as it deserved. When it came down to it, she just couldn't be around to watch, especially as their daughter was born.  
  
  
  
Luckily, Humboldt State University had offered her a job as an English professor. Located in the tiny seaside village of Trinidad, just north of Eureka and not terribly far from the California/Oregon border, it was a lovely place to relocate. The neighbors were friendly and welcoming. They talked over their fences about their children and their lives, the weather and sports. They looked out for one another in a way that she had never encountered before. Initially, it caught her off guard, but eventually she adjusted to the kind people and their sincere ways. Most people never left Trinidad, making their lives there permanently - her neighbor to her right had lived there for thirty years, while to her left, the elderly couple with seven children and fourteen grandchildren had been in the house for fifty one years. The finishing touch was that it put seven hundred miles between herself and the life she had chosen to walk away from in Los Angeles.  
  
  
  
Will visited often, and now in his fifties, he even spoke of retiring there one day. If he couldn't get that far north, Sydney would go down to Los Angeles or they'd meet in the middle. Over time, she'd developed a similar relationship with the Flinkman's and Marcus Dixon. Nowadays, she had to make the effort to see Dixon, who had recently suffered two difficult bouts with a vigorous cancer that left travel a precarious effort at best. The last time she'd seen her former partner, he was still bright and his warm personality was unchanged by the difficult health he'd recently suffered. Still, he had the best doctors in Los Angeles and they were constantly making breakthroughs.  
  
  
  
Sydney had only lived in Trinidad for fourteen months when Claire was born. David had been friends with her neighbors from across the street, and she had met him at a Halloween party there just weeks after she arrived. Tall, with puppy dog eyes and dark, curly hair, he was the first man to catch her eye in nearly two years. The first man she felt an interest in since Vaughn. And while the relationship didn't have the chemistry or deep feelings of love that only Vaughn had been able to stir in her, it worked. At thirty-one, rebuilding her life in a new place, it had been enough. He was a fisherman, crabs mostly, and was originally from Trinidad. In retrospect, the relationship had progressed far too quickly, and by the time Claire was born, David had moved in with her and they were engaged.  
  
  
  
It was at Claire's baptism, when she was four months old, that Will gently pulled her aside. As her best friend and as Claire's godfather, he had softly explained his concerns. Finally, Will was the one to point out to her what she had been desperate to avoid: That David had a severe drinking problem. Days later, when Sydney cautiously brought it to his attention, he spun out of control in a fit of anger that she had never seen before and never wished to again. Still, the next day he promised to start getting help, for their future and for their daughter.  
  
  
  
Of course his meager attempts repeatedly failed, and every time he fell even harder into the bottle. The money was there for him to drink away whatever he wanted, and working alone on the boat gave him the opportunity to spend the entire day drinking. Sydney grew more and more frustrated with his lackluster attempts, and concerned with his disposition to go off of the handle without any warning. All of that cumulated in the spring of 2009, and she spent the last two weeks of the spring semester wearing nearly a pound of cover up a day to hide the bruises, and making excuses about carpel tunnel syndrome to make up for her inability to use her left hand.  
  
  
  
Claire was nearly a year and a half when David finally left. One day she had walked home to find his things gone, and no one in Trinidad ever heard from him again. At first it had been a blessing in disguise. Only a few months later did Eric let it slip that Jack and Michael Vaughn had taken three days off, including the day before and after David disappeared, to head north. There was no doubt in her mind then that her father was involved in David leaving, and wondered why after nearly three years of no contact, Vaughn would have any interest in her life whatsoever.   
  
  
  
Still, she never saw or spoke to him. Michael and Kate Vaughn were not on her list of people to send her new address to when she relocated, and certainly weren't people she sent an announcement of Claire's birth to. Cutting him out had been painful, but necessary. Moving on was the only option she had. Only to herself did she admit the tears she had shed, the countless 'what if's' that floated through her mind. Putting aside her pain and hurt, she could only fault him so much for moving on - she had done the same thing when Danny died, and it had led her to him. There would never be another man for her like Michael Vaughn, and she long ago stopped trying to find one.   
  
  
  
Sydney considered herself a relatively happy person. Raising a daughter on her own, financially and emotionally, was difficult, but worth it. There was always the catch-22, the thorn in the side of every single parent she'd ever met: When there was the time, there was never the money; when there was the money, there was never the time. Claire was, by nature, happy with what she had. She had grown up playing field hockey, babysitting for the neighbors, playing with the dog and taking care of her mother, just as vigorously as Sydney cared for her. During the morning's low tide, Claire would run around the craggy shores of Trinidad Beach, walking under the sea arch. Mother and daughter would walk the pier, looking for sea otters and harbor seals after they ate dinner. Their routine was predictable and mundane, but neither had any complaints.  
  
  
  
Three months earlier Claire had left home for Palo Alto. No one had been prouder than her mother when she was recruited to play field hockey at Stanford University, and as a freshman she was planning on an economics major. Sometimes at night her mother wondered if her daughter's fascination with numbers went back to the child's calculator Marshall had given Claire for her third birthday. Initially, being alone in the house was lonely. She'd jump everytime one of their three cats pounced upstairs at night, the steps creaking underneath them. There was no one to watch Jeopardy! or the Kings' games with. No one to greet her with a smile when she arrived home and ask how her day went.  
  
  
  
Of all the things Sydney Bristow had adjusted to during her life, a home without her daughter was among the most difficult. By that day in early November, things were improving. No longer did she mind the quiet; the home that was now hers alone. Instead, she went about her regular day, sitting in the back of her house at night and watching the dog pounce eagerly around the big yard, eating her dinner, all while anticipating the evening phone calls from Claire that came faithfully three times a week. No matter how much she enjoyed the quiet, the time to herself, the calls were still the highlight of her week.  
  
  
  
With her classes and her meetings over for the day, Sydney closed her office around four thirty on that November day. Slinging her coat over her shoulder, she smiled and waved at teachers and students she passed on her way out. Once in the car, she flipped on the radio and made the short drive home. As her car came to a stop in her driveway, she made small talk with one of her neighbors as she heard Gehrig eagerly barking from inside the house. Just as loyal as any dog could imagine being, Gehrig was a nearly fourteen year old Yorkshire Terrier who was generally well behaved. Opening the latch of the white picket fence that encompassed the backyard, she searched for her keys and let herself in through the back. Gehrig eagerly greeted her, his tiny tail wagging frantically to keep up with his excited _expression. While it wasn't her daughter, Sydney still enjoyed having *someone* to come home to.  
  
  
  
Slipping off her shoes, she pressed the answering machine as she breezed past. Three messages: two from solicitors and one from Carrie Flinkman interested in knowing about her Christmas plans. Making sure that Gehrig had fresh water and food, Sydney entered the bathroom and stripped off her soiled clothing. Hours of lectures, meetings on dissertations and deconstructing literature could be suicide on your feet, as she had learned over the years. In the end, after nearly two decades, she still enjoyed her job. Now a full-fledged professor, there were rumors that one day she'd be chair of the English department, an honor that exceeded anything she ever dreamed of.  
  
  
  
The jeans were aged and well worn, nearly older than her daughter, but still among her favorites. They were good for evenings alone at home, and the t-shirt fit comfortably with it. Although it was nearing the end of fall, the weather in Trinidad was never extreme in either direction. In the winter it would occasionally get into the fifties, but generally, it stayed in the sixties year-round, thanks to the fog off of the water. Mindful of the cool breeze, Sydney grabbed what was once a pure white cardigan. Raising a daughter and caring for a dog and three cats, along with the passage of time, had aged it to ivory, not that anyone else would have detected the change.   
  
  
  
Reasonably warm, she stepped into the kitchen to leash a slightly sedated Gehrig. At the sight of his mistress and his leash, the dog instantly perked up. Once their walk was concluded, Gehrig knew Sydney would let him pounce around the locked yard for a while before going in for dinner. The dog knew the routine just as well as she did, and sometimes she wondered if he was still missing Claire as badly as she was. Together they kept each other company, and he was good for keeping the bed warm at night.  
  
  
  
Mere blocks separated her from the Trinidad beach. As idyllic as a beachfront home had been, it would have been impossible for her to purchase one when she first moved to Trinidad. Once Claire was born and her bond deepened with her neighbors, moving seemed impossible, even though she knew she could now manage to afford a waterfront house. Time had taught her to be happy with what she had. Having dreams and goals, wanting things in life was something all people should strive for, but Sydney Bristow had learned the hard way that most times when you ask for too much, you end up with nothing.  
  
  
  
Barring rain, Gehrig expected his evening walks to bring him by the beach. Once in a while Sydney would let him off the leash, confident that he'd always come back when she called. They'd walk around the shore, usually devoid of any other company. Sometimes she'd recap her day to him, sharing humorous anecdotes from her classes and colleagues. Other days they'd just walk in silence, enjoying the slowly disappearing sun and the cool sand underfoot. Eventually they'd leave the beach, keeping a calm pace as they walked back to the house.  
  
  
  
Approaching the house now, she noticed a black sedan in front and wondered if the neighbors were having guests. The woman across the street from her had two teenage sons and always had friends in and out throughout the day. She'd often find cars parked in front of her house. Early in her years in Trinidad, she'd decided that parked in front of her house was far better than parked in her driveway. Slowing down as her house grew progressively larger, she smiled at Georgia, the woman who lived to the right of her. Georgia had been the one to help her plant the flowers that bordered her backyard, and the woman was watering her plants as Sydney approached.  
  
  
  
"Hey Sydney." Georgia smiled as she set down her watering can.  
  
  
  
"Hi," she greeted as she and Gehrig slowed down.   
  
  
  
"Getting ready for Claire to come back?"  
  
  
  
"I honestly can't wait," she confessed. "I know it's only been three months, but it feels like so much longer."  
  
  
  
"The first three months are the hardest," the older woman advised. Growing serious, she stood up from where she'd been patting Gehrig. "Were you expecting Will?"   
  
  
  
"Will Tippin?" Her brow furrowed as her friend nodded. After nearly two decades of being neighbors and friends, Georgia knew all of her family and friends relatively well, having spoken to them at countless parties and get-togethers.   
  
  
  
"I think it's him. I was coming out of the house and I thought I saw him. Someone opened the gate and went into your backyard. I just assumed it was Will. I thought you'd said just Claire was coming for Thanksgiving, but I wasn't sure."  
  
  
  
Pushing hair behind her ear, Sydney grew concerned. "I wasn't expecting anyone."  
  
  
  
"Do you want me to call the police?" she whispered.  
  
  
  
Shaking her head she answered, "No, but if you hear me scream, call," she requested.  
  
  
  
"Only if you're sure. I could go get Tom, he could go -"  
  
  
  
"I can handle it," Sydney smiled. Admittedly, she hadn't had the opportunity to beat up someone in over a decade, but she still used the athletic facilities at the school, working out and until recently, she'd played nearly weekly games of tennis with Claire. Still, so much of it still felt as though it was instinct to her, and she reassuringly smiled at her friend as she slowly approached the back gate.  
  
  
  
The white picket fence was aged but had managed to keep its charm. One of Claire's friends had repainted it just that summer, and she swore she could still smell the paint fumes as she reached over to unlatch the gate. From where she stood, she saw nothing, the back steps and whole right side of the yard, her shed included, were out of her range of sight. Gripping tighter at Gehrig's leash, she slowly opened the door and willed her heart to stop beating. Most likely it was just Will, frustrated with his job and taking a road trip north. As a divorced man with no children, it was not out of the question.  
  
  
  
Stepping slowly into her yard, the dog quietly trailed her. Taking a few steps, she froze in her place. Frankly, she hadn't given his appearance much thought until that moment, seeing that his hair was now more gray than blonde, the forehead wrinkles now a near-permanent fixture on his face. Judging by his dark t-shirt and jeans, he hadn't been prepared for the more mild weather that was found north of Los Angeles.   
  
  
  
Of the many men that had passed through her mind in the few seconds from talking to Georgia to entering her backyard, he was not on the list of people she had expected to see sitting on the top step of her back stoop. Swallowing hard, she instinctively pulled another flagrant strand of hair back into place before she found her voice.  
  
  
  
"Vaughn." 


	2. Chapter 1

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
Authors Note: There's a reference in this to how they met twenty four years ago. It's basically canon that they met 10-1-2001. I've worked out my own little mini-timeline (the way I see it, JJ isn't grasping real time anymore - why do I have to?) to suit the story. Syd disappeared summer '03, they'd known eachother roughly two years and then she disappeared for another two, reappeared spring '05. The story starts November 2025. Thus, twenty four years after they met.   
  
Oh, yeah. I think I'm showing my age w/ the song lyrics, but Third Eye Blind's "Blinded" would be recommended listening for this chapter, if you're so inclined.   
  
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~*Just an old friend coming over now to visit you and   
  
That's what I've become   
  
I let myself in though I know I'm not supposed to but   
  
I never know when I'm done*~ Third Eye Blind, "Blinded (When I See You)"   
  
  
  
Just weeks away from his fifty-seventh birthday, Michael Vaughn was starting to suspect that he was getting too old for the world of international espionage. It had been years since he'd been in the field, mostly of his own choosing. The ultimate goal, the goal he'd set his sights on early on in his career, had been met decades before. The Alliance was gone, SD-6 was destroyed, and eventually, Arvin Sloane was as well. Most importantly, the unspoken career goal that could only be read in his eyes, Sydney Bristow was free.  
  
  
  
Up until a few years earlier, Sydney Bristow was not completely eradicated from his world. Will Tippin spoke fondly of her and often, as did Marshall and Dixon. Even Carrie would stop by and mention her once in awhile. Still, it had been Jack Bristow who had been his key; he was the one with pictures of Sydney, and later Claire, in his office, allowing him to occasionally pop his head in and see how she was doing. Pictures spoke more than words ever could. He watched as the natural gray highlights appeared, and as the wrinkles slowly emerged on her beautiful face. Even into her seventies, Irina Derevko was an attractive, albeit evil, woman. That was one quality her daughter and subsequently her granddaughter, had inherited, sans the self-serving agenda.  
  
  
  
Sydney's decision to leave the CIA was justifiable and certainly understandable. Sometimes he still blamed himself for not stopping her, for not somehow keeping her in the L.A. area. There had been nothing to say and certainly nothing to do. Their exchanges since her return had been mostly brief and chilly. His wife was towards the end of a difficult pregnancy when she made her final departure, and he doubted she would have listened to any case he might have tried to plead.   
  
  
  
Despite all of that, she was never particularly far from his mind. Not that he could have put her there if he wanted to. Will, Dixon, Marshall... Every part of the life she had left behind still surrounded him every day. Just because she hadn't made contact with him didn't mean he hadn't known what she was doing or how she was doing. Sydney Bristow, despite the well-hidden animosity she likely felt towards him, was unforgettable. He loved Kate, and he had done his best to stick by the promise he made and make a life with her, but there was a part of him that she could never touch and would never see. Still, he had loved her, had for the most part, enjoyed their time together. Plus, she had been there. In his late thirties, he'd been anxious to marry and start a family, already passed the age at which his own father died. If things had been different, if Arvin Sloane hadn't stepped in and collectively ruined yet another life, he was certain there would have been a different woman with the title of Mrs. Michael Vaughn.  
  
  
  
They had been married for nearly a year and a half when Alexandra was born; right around the time Sydney Bristow disappeared from his life. Kate was a relatively good woman, who had probably shared his over eagerness to get married and start a family. When they first got together, Sydney had been gone for over a year, and she had been declared dead for months. The first of many hits their marriage took was when Sydney reappeared. In more than one way, his hands were tied between his loyalty to his wife, and what had always been a steadfast devotion to his former asset. When she left, the troubles with his marriage didn't.  
  
  
  
Kate had left him over a year and a half ago. They'd been married just over nineteen years, and Alexandra was a senior in high school. His soon to be ex-wife had stayed in California just long enough for their daughter to finish high school before relocating to her native Arizona. A few months later his daughter started at the University of Arizona, where she was a sophomore with biochemistry as a major. Now alone, he found work consuming more and more of his time. Weiss had made valiant attempts to draw him out of the office, to set him up on dates from around the office, even introducing him to a few of his wife's friends. No one caught his eye or his heart, and at his age, he was frustrated with settling.  
  
  
  
When he'd put the keys into his ignition nearly a day before, he'd intended on heading east to Arizona. An hour into his travels, he'd realized that he wasn't needed and was likely unwanted in the area. Somehow, instead of Tuscon, Arizona he ended up driving to Trinidad, California, remembering it from the one trip he'd made over a decade earlier. What surprised him was not the ease at which he drove the long stretch of US Highway 101, cruising along the Pacific Ocean, but how easily he remembered her address. Even with the unusual glances the locals shot him as he drove down what was seemingly the only main street in town, he was surprised at how comfortable he felt. Somehow he doubted the feeling would remain for long once he reached his destination.  
  
  
  
There was a Jeep in the driveway when he pulled the rented sedan in front of the home. It was cute, white with light blue trimming. Aged, without being downright old. A Stanford Cardinals flag hung off of the bracket in the front, and a white picket fence surrounded the backyard. When no one answered in the front, he let himself around the back, getting comfortable on the concrete steps. Only then, as he sat there studying the flowers of various colors and shapes that bordered the large space, did he worry that this might not have been such a good idea.  
  
  
  
Michael Vaughn suspected that Sydney Bristow no longer had him on her list of favorite people. Momentarily, he considered that perhaps he had even been added to her 'injure and maim' list before deciding against it. There was no one to fault for his fall from her graces except himself. Nothing and no one had ever come realistically close to inducing the feelings in him that she had. They were feelings she'd always caused in him; feelings that he had been so sure would go away once he had her. Or at least tamper away with time. Instead, they'd only intensified, and when she'd disappeared twenty-two years ago, he'd been within hours of making it permanent.  
  
  
  
The trouble with Sydney was that he couldn't rid himself of her, not even two decades after she began shutting him out of her life. Truth be told, he didn't want to completely rid himself of her. Something about her had implanted itself deep within him, and had affected the man he was. In the end, he found himself liking himself better after he knew her than before. Unintentionally, Sydney Bristow had made a whirlwind in his life, creating an unparalleled affect on the person he was. For a short period of time, she had seen him as the person he'd always wanted to be, sharing with him the life he'd always wanted. You could strip him of that, but no one but Sydney could replace it.  
  
  
  
No logic could explain why he'd ended up there, on Sydney Bristow's back stoop, anxiously waiting to see her. Panic raced through his mind at the off possibility that perhaps she was living with someone, even married, and the news hadn't traveled back to him. Over twenty years, the grapevine that connected him to her had slowly disintegrated. Still, it seemed unlikely. Surely Will, or even Marshall would have sputtered something about that. She would not have wed without Will there, and certainly not without Jack Bristow either, despite the tensions that would always remain between the two.  
  
  
  
So he found himself pacing the crevices of his mind as he waited. Surely she would wonder why he was there. When he told her, Vaughn knew he could expect the appropriate sympathy. Sydney was, by nature, a compassionate person. If she hadn't been, she could have just as easily let SD-6 deceive and rot away at otherwise good people. Perhaps she wouldn't even ask. Instead, she'd call the police and have him escorted off her property, but he knew that didn't fit her character. No police would be necessary; Sydney could certainly escort his sorry ass off her property without assistance.  
  
  
  
Maybe she'd display an understanding that was only seen in his fantasies. In his mind, she'd welcome him back into her life in a manner that he hadn't known for over two decades. There would be no worry or concern of his daughter or hers; of the job he'd left behind, of the pain and misunderstanding that spread across nearly half their lives. Even as he sat there, he was determined. Far too much time had passed without understanding, without forgiveness, without a simple touch. Whether the outcome of this impromptu journey was one he envisioned, something torn from his nightmares, or whether it rested somewhere in between, he would walk away this time with no regrets.  
  
  
  
Although time had passed, his ears had easily picked up on the steady, even fall of her feet against the pavement. Moments later, the latch clicked and the white fence squeaked open. Remaining where he was, he studied his hands as his elbows rested on his knees, hoping he'd brought enough money for whatever bail the Trinidad police would want when Sydney stuck him in jail.  
  
  
  
Judging by the way she'd entered her own yard, she'd been expecting a predator. Then when she saw him, she immediately stopped, causing the heavy set Yorkshire Terrier she was walking to nearly collide into her legs. Her hair was curled as she had styled it in the first days of their relationship, along with numerous strands of natural gray that was shuffled into her chestnut locks. The jeans hugged her still attractive figure, including a few curves he suspected she had received after giving birth. Light wrinkles did nothing to diminish her face, or to take away from the deep set of her eyes. Without question, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever encountered.  
  
  
  
With a trained eye, he noted that she swallowed back whatever anxiety she was certainly feeling, and pulled her hair back behind her ear, wearing a poker face to challenge the best of them. Finally she discovered her voice, the word escaping from her was spoken low and was as important to her as that of her own child. "Vaughn."  
  
  
  
Once upon a time he would have quickly sprang to his feet, but his joints were no longer that cooperative. Sometimes he felt his joints crack and occasionally even heard them hiss if he moved too quickly. Instead, he moved with a patience that fit his years of life experience, slowly pulling to his feet. Swiftly he wiped the underside of his nose, his hands in his pockets as he looked at everything but her eyes. "Hey Syd."  
  
  
  
Although he'd never admit it aloud, he'd spent hours trying to predict her reaction. The silence, however, had not been what he'd anticipated. Under his careful scrutiny, he swore he could watch the wheels turn in her mind as the tears pooled in front of her brown eyes. Bringing her free hand up, she quickly wiped them from under her eyes, unaware that she had smudged her mascara in the process. "Vaughn," she spoke again, this time eliciting a heavy sigh after. Standing in front of him, searching her vast vocabulary for some appropriate response, she wondered why this hurt so much, and how it could still manage to feel so right after two decades and a lifetime worth of regrets. "How are you?" she asked, wondering if the question sounded as absurd to him as it suddenly did to her.  
  
  
  
"I'm okay," he replied, with a voice still hoarse from nearly a day's worth of non-use. "I let myself in," he pointed out the obvious as she nodded. "I saw your car..."  
  
  
  
"I was walking Gehrig," she softly explained, tugging at the dog's leash. "Do you have time? I was going to make some coffee."  
  
  
  
"Coffee would be nice," he nodded. For a moment she remained stationary, studying him before she pulled the dog's leash, Gehrig faithfully trailing his mistress as she started up the stairs. As she passed, Vaughn noted how her arm seem to stiffen after briefly touching his, easily letting him into her kitchen.  
  
  
  
Decorated with dark wooden cabinets, it was a sufficient kitchen, although the once modern appliances were now beginning to show their age. The kitchen table was pushed up against the two windows overlooking the driveway that Sydney shared with Georgia, and was devoid of anything sans a purple vase of fresh flowers. Unleashing the dog, she silently motioned for him to take a seat as she began to prepare coffee, the tension as obvious in her shoulders as it was on his face. Even with the discomfort, his eyes stayed on her, watching as she flicked on the coffee pot. Gracefully, she moved around the small but tidy kitchen, pulling out what was necessary.  
  
  
  
"May I use your bathroom?" he finally broke the silence, notably catching her off guard. Tossing him a look over her shoulder, she nodded.  
  
  
  
"Sure," she agreed. "It's right there," Sydney explained, pointing to a dark wooden door just off the left of the kitchen. Flashing her a smile of gratitude, he disappeared behind the door. Once he was out of her sight, she heaved a heavy sigh of relief, willing the coffee pot to brew faster. There certainly was a reason for his arrival, she was positive of that, but her mind was bare of any legitimate possibility. Still, when she'd seen the worry lines around his eyes, her heart had reached out for him. Just as her mind had unwillingly jumped to possibilities of 'what if', despite her happiness with her current life situation, when she noticed that the wedding band that had hung in her mind for years, was gone.   
  
  
  
"Would you like something to eat?" she offered as the bathroom door swung open and he stepped out.  
  
  
  
Vaughn shook his head and muttered a 'no thank you' as she grabbed the two coffee cups. Trailing a step behind him, she was setting the coffee on the table, with him halfway into the kitchen chair when something caught his eye and caused him to stop. Confused, she turned to follow his gaze, landing on her refrigerator. The surface had been a cornucopia since she arrived in Trinidad, especially since Claire's birth. Even though her daughter was away at college, it was still covered in pictures and papers held down by colorful magnets, depicting places they'd gone or bearing amusing quotes. Along the side of the refrigerator, in colorful letter magnets, her daughter had even carefully spelt out 'Go Cardinals'. Although the surface was busy, it was obvious to her what had caused Vaughn to react.  
  
  
  
Across from a picture of Sydney and Claire at her high school graduation was another recent picture. Wearing a smile and a slight crimson color in her cheeks, Sydney stood next to a handsome, but slightly older man. The man was tall, the top of her head barely touching his shoulder. His hair reminded her of the sky at midnight and his eyes were the bluest she'd ever seen up close. His Italian blood made him tan nearly year-round, although in the photo he was slightly burnt from too many hours on the golf course. The grin on his face was just as wide as her own as they stood in his classroom, a framed and matted photo of a Hawaiian golf course behind them. Sydney clearly remembered the day Claire had insisted on taking the photo, nearly six months ago, and it had remained on her refrigerator since it returned from the developer.  
  
  
  
Softly she released a sigh, turning to face him as he fell back into the seat. Twenty years and an eighteen year old daughter later, she wondered why the guilt suddenly reappeared, and why she was the one carrying it. The kitchen chair scraped loudly over the tile as she sank into the chair next to him and met his green eyes. "His name is Peter," she explained. "He was one of Claire's teachers during her sophomore year. We've been friends since then," Sydney pressed on. Then her voice dropped a hint lower as she added, "It's nothing serious, but we've been seeing one another since March."  
  
  
  
Vaughn nodded and took a sip of coffee, nearly relieved to feel it burn the top of his tongue. Momentarily, it seemed appropriate to say he was happy for her, but in truth, he wasn't. As egotistical and logically wrong as he knew it to be, he would never be happy to see Sydney Bristow with another man, regardless of his own circumstances. From the moment her eyes had locked with his twenty-four years, she had been his girl, and he detested any man who even had the opportunity to give her a look-over. Resting the mug back against the Windexed surface of the kitchen table, he swallowed the remainder of the painful liquid and finally spoke. "You look good Syd."  
  
  
  
The smile that she sent him didn't quite reach her eyes and didn't have the joy that she had carried in the photo with Peter. Slowly, it disappeared as she looked at the caramel colored liquid that floated in her mug. "I've heard about how you've been doing. In the agency. My dad would tell me, or Will, sometimes even Marshall," she grinned as she thought of the still-anxious technology whiz, who had more enthusiasm than all three of his children combined. "You've done good work Vaughn. It's amazing what you accomplished," she complimented, a brief ember of pride flickering in her brown eyes.   
  
  
  
"I never would have made it this far without you."  
  
  
  
Under his trained scrutiny, her head shook and her smile again disappeared. "You would have made it with or without me. If you remember, I'm the reason you almost died. Twice," she recalled, her eyes not meeting his as her voice cracked.  
  
  
  
"You saved my life."   
  
  
  
"You wouldn't have needed to be saved if I hadn't gotten us in trouble..." she grinned and shook her head. Her slender hand reached up to pull hair off of her face, her grin growing as she looked up at him. "It's a miracle that the agency didn't fire us a long time ago, isn't it?"  
  
  
  
"We did good work together Syd," he smiled softly. For whatever reason, his honest comment caused her to go somber again and he wondered what it would take to keep the smile on her face.  
  
  
  
Instead of gazing at him, she took a sip of her coffee and then studied the mug as she cradled it between her hands. "Why are you here Vaughn? This isn't exactly a casual drive up coast from L.A."  
  
  
  
"They offered me Devlin's job," Vaughn confessed, as her brown eyes gazed across his, the surprise evident. Intentionally dropping his voice, he added, "I've missed you Syd."  
  
  
  
"Vaughn..." she dragged his name out over a sigh. "Can you still really miss someone after eighteen years?" she quietly asked. The only answer he had was a silent shrug. Although he'd stopped mourning her years ago, the grief still lingered, along with the ache that he felt whenever he thought of her. Finally, she whispered the words he'd only dreamed of hearing, "I've missed you too Vaughn. A lot," she confessed, a smile hinting at the corners of her lips. "Sometimes more than others, but I have missed you," she quietly concluded. For a few minutes she let that hang in the air, daring to look up at him, smiling at the nearly goofy grin he had directed at her. As all good things must, her smile vanished as he watched her brown eyes grow serious. "You said you were offered Devlin's job. Are you going to take it?"  
  
  
  
That was just one of the many questions that had plagued him on what he had intended to be a mind-clearing trip. Instead, he'd arrived at a different destination, confronting head-on, a demon that he had been quietly battling for years. The easy answer would have been yes, of course he was going to take the job. The previous month had marked his thirty first year with the agency; after such a long tenure it would have been insane to say no to what most agents considered the ultimate goal. Yet, he hadn't even been in the agency for a decade when he'd grown sick of company politics, of beauracratic nonsense, and had always acted accordingly. Needless to say, he hadn't even been aware that he'd been on the shortlist of candidates to take over the position, nevermind the forerunner.  
  
  
  
"You'd be good at it," she softly complimented. At his skeptical glance, she continued, "You'd do what was in the best interest of the country."  
  
  
  
"I don't know," he sighed, blowing on his coffee before taking another sip of the liquid. Quietly he explained, "My father would have taken the job. Without even thinking about it. If the agency wanted it, he would have done it, whether he really wanted to or not."  
  
  
  
"Vaughn," she quietly spoke, taking a moment to consider her response. "You can't take this job just because your father would have. Of course your father wanted what was best for the country, for the CIA, but he would have wanted what was best for you first."  
  
  
  
"I've been doing this for thirty one years Syd," he reminded her, his voice low and hoarse. "If I don't take this job, what the hell have I been working for?"  
  
  
  
Leaning against the table, her warmth drawing closer to his, Sydney answered. "You're not like Haladki or Davenport or half the other idiots you work with," she reminded him as his lips quirked. His eyes lowered as she continued, "You didn't join the CIA so you could retire as director, you joined..."  
  
  
  
"I joined for my father," he supplied the words she was too cautious to speak, meeting her eyes. "I joined for my father."   
  
  
  
"Your goal was never to be director," she remembered.  
  
  
  
"No," he shook his head, his eyebrow rose as he sipped his coffee. The mug banged softly against the surface of the table as he set it down. "I did this to bring down the Alliance and find my father's killer," he recalled as her eyes dipped from his. "Sydney," he gently hugged her name, capturing her eyes before she could look away.   
  
  
  
"My mother killed your father Vaughn, she's still alive and he's not," she harshly whispered.   
  
  
  
"Nothing either of us can do will ever change that," he protested. Shaking her head, she stood and walked to the coffee pot, her back to him as she let out a heavy sigh.  
  
  
  
"How can you not let this upset you?" Sydney asked, her figure still away from him as he stood.  
  
  
  
"Of course it upsets me Syd, but it's not you and it's not me. It's our parents. I found out who my father's killer was; that was something I never thought possible. I've looked her straight in the eye Syd, I've even had opportunities to take her life, but I never did," he pointed out. When she turned to face him, standing a few scant feet from him in the compact kitchen, his eyes were serious as he continued. "I didn't kill her, and I don't regret it. Killing her would have made me no better than she is. If we spent our time letting that eat us alive, they would have won, and neither one of us wants that to happen."  
  
  
  
The phone rang in the tiny home before she could even consider her response. With a quick glance at the clock, she was certain of who it was before she even eyed the caller identification box. Apologetically she turned to look at Vaughn, who was slowly sinking back into his chair. "It's Claire, I should go take this," she realized. Silently he agreed as she grabbed the cordless phone and slipped into the family room. "Hello?" she finally answered, moments before the voicemail would have kicked in.  
  
  
  
"Hey Mom," Claire's friendly voice popped in to her ear. "What's up?"  
  
  
  
"Oh, nothing," she sighed tiredly. "Gehrig's eating dinner, I walked him. Thinking about making dinner for myself..."  
  
  
  
"How was work?"  
  
  
  
"Fine. Over now."  
  
  
  
A few hundred miles away her daughter laughed and Sydney couldn't help but smile. "That bad, huh?"  
  
  
  
"I've had better days," Sydney agreed. "Did you eat dinner?"  
  
  
  
"Yes Mom," she promised. Without missing a beat, her tone turned from jovial to slightly concerned as she continued her half of the conversation. "Are you okay? You sound sort of weird."  
  
  
  
"No, I'm fine sweetie. I just have some company over, that's all."  
  
  
  
"I'm so sorry Mom! I didn't realize that you had Peter over -"  
  
  
  
"It's not Peter and it wasn't planned sweetheart, you didn't interrupt anything," her mother quickly promised. "I should go though. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"  
  
  
  
"Okay. Get some sleep Mom, and I hope you have a better day tomorrow."  
  
  
  
"Thanks sweetheart, you too. I love you."  
  
  
  
"Love you too Mom," Claire promised as the call disconnected. Turning off the phone, Sydney stared at the buttons for a few moments before she slowly stood off of the couch and re-entered the kitchen.  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry," she apologized, setting the phone back on the charger.  
  
  
  
"How's Claire?" he asked pleasantly as she once again joined him at the table.  
  
  
  
"Good. She usually calls around this time most nights. We check in... I think she uses the call as a tactic to delay doing homework," Sydney considered, as they both laughed.  
  
  
  
"She's in college now?"  
  
  
  
"A freshman," her head nodded slightly. "She's studying economics at Stanford."  
  
  
  
"Stanford? Why didn't she go to Humboldt?"  
  
  
  
"Stanford offered her an athletic scholarship. Plus, I don't think she wanted to spend her college years being referred to as Professor Bristow's daughter," she explained, sipping her coffee as he nodded.  
  
  
  
"What does she play?"  
  
  
  
"Field hockey," she confessed, as he grinned. "Goalie, actually. She's good, very quick reflexes."  
  
  
  
"She must be very good, the Cardinals have a good athletic program," he mused.   
  
  
  
Mindful of polite conversation, she replied with a similar question, "How's your daughter?"  
  
  
  
"I'm assuming Alexandra is okay," Vaughn sighed and sipped his coffee. At her obviously confused _expression, he began to clarify. "She's nineteen now, she doesn't make a daily ritual out of calling me," he explained.   
  
  
  
"They're teenagers, we're no longer cool," she reminded him with a slight smirk. Seconds later they both laughed before he continued.  
  
  
  
"She's a sophomore at the University of Arizona now, she's studying biochemistry."  
  
  
  
"Arizona?" She was obviously surprised as he nodded. "Why didn't she stay in California?"  
  
  
  
"Kate moved back to Arizona after the divorce." He looked away as she nodded, the two slipping into a foreign silence. Silently, the ceiling fan pushed air throughout the room as Gehrig tugged his blanket out from under the baker's rack and sank down onto it.   
  
  
  
"I'm sorry," she finally spoke, breaking the silence. Of course she was sorry, no divorce was easy. Will had been torn to shreds after his own divorce, and while it was amicable, it was still among the most painful times of his life. The type of pain she'd seen him suffer was a type she'd never wish upon anyone, especially someone she cared about.   
  
  
  
Vaughn shook his head and quietly protested, "Don't be. It's been awhile now... It just wasn't working anymore. It hadn't been for awhile," he quietly confessed. In her seat Sydney remained silent, her eyes glued to the remains of her lukewarm coffee as she nodded.  
  
  
  
Finally, she met his eyes, her hands wrapped around the mug of coffee. "Why are you really here Vaughn?" she softly inquired. "You didn't need me to talk to you about becoming director – Will, or even Dixon or Marshall could have helped you just as easily. And I'm assuming you didn't make a seventeen hour drive just to talk about Claire and Alexandra," she pointed out. Repeating the question, her eyes were serious and her tone was somber, "Why are you here?" 


	3. Chapter 2

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
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If life had taught Sydney Bristow one thing, it was that there was always a motive. Teaching literature for nearly two decades had only enforced that belief. Whether it was obvious or could only be guessed at, there was a motive behind every action that a person ever took. Sometimes motives were mysteries even to the people driven by them, but there was always a reason. People like Arvin Sloane and her own mother could be driven by greed, self-fulfillment and power. Then there were people who were spurred to action by love and concern, a need to care and help others, to see good triumph over the current evil. Perhaps it was foolish, but she'd always put Michael Vaughn in the latter category, and always tried to keep herself there as well.  
  
  
  
Occasionally a person could be spontaneous, but Michael Vaughn was not that type of person. She'd never known him to be extremely spontaneous, and a sudden trip to see her after eighteen years was nothing short of that. Instead, she'd always imagined he'd carefully considered each word he spoke, maintaining his eloquence, even in the most heated moments. In her mind she could remember what she was certain had been a carefully worded speech involving a broken watch that had belonged to the late William Vaughn. Sometimes she'd even wondered if he'd practiced telling her that he had an instinct about her over and over in his head before he reappeared in his office on that fateful day.   
  
  
  
Staring at his coffee, Vaughn cleared his throat and finally began to speak, not meeting her eyes as she carefully watched him. "I don't think I ever told you this, but my mom was married once, before she married my father. Right out of high school, for thirteen months. They were divorced before my mom even finished college," he explained, finally looking at her. "It wasn't something my mother was proud of, but it wasn't something that she was ashamed of either. She once told me that she didn't have any regrets about it. That she'd done and said everything she could have, that it just didn't work. My mother died a few years ago -"  
  
  
  
"Vaughn, I'm so sorry," she broke in softly.  
  
  
  
"Thank you," he shook his head slightly. "But I'm fine now," he promised. "When everything happened with Kate, that was the one consolation I had. I wasn't proud of the fact that my marriage was over, or that I had hurt my daughter, but I knew we'd done and said everything we could. I thought that was enough; I thought that it was enough that I could look at every person in my life without any regrets..." he trailed off. "Syd, it wasn't my intention to come here. I didn't leave Los Angeles planning to come here. I talked to Kate yesterday, for the first time in basically a year, for reasons other than Alex..."  
  
  
  
Reading the mixed emotions on his face, and how he kept his eyes away from her, Sydney wondered what could be so horrible that she even felt her own heart breaking. "Vaughn?" she gently prodded, as he wiped the underside of his nose, breathed in the slightest of sniffles, and continued.  
  
  
  
"Kate was... is, engaged to be remarried. I've known for a few months. Alex told me during her last visit. I'm not in love with her anymore Syd, I'm not sure if we ever were; if we weren't just fooling ourselves..." His eyes welled up as he continued to speak. Goosebumps shot through her as she remembered the last time she'd seen him react like that: In a seemingly doomed safe house in Hong Kong. Swallowing hard, he sniffled again and continued, "I do care about her though. She's the mother of my child, and for a while we were happy..." he conceded, as she remained silent. "Syd, I was happy for Kate when she got engaged, and I tried to move on..." he shook his head slightly, seemingly lost in his own memories.   
  
  
  
"She's sick, she's been sick for a while now... When she first got diagnosed, I offered to come out, to help, but she insisted she didn't need me... The treatments haven't been working and she called to tell me, to make sure that things were in order, for... for when she goes," Vaughn's voice cracked as he lightly pinched and brushed the upper side of his finger along his nose once again. "So when I got into my car, I was going to go to Tuscan, to try to help. I don't know, I thought maybe... I realized that Kate had her fiancée and that Alex had her friends and her mother, and likely doesn't need or even want to see me. The only person she wants to see right now is her mother, and I don't blame her. I wasn't the best father in the world Syd -"   
  
  
  
"I'm sure -"  
  
  
  
"It's the truth," he stopped her attempts to assure him. "I wasn't. I got wrapped up too easily in work and I wasn't the type of father I could have been when she was younger. I do regret that, I regret that I wasn't the type of father I knew I could be, but it was stupid of me to believe that was the only regret I had..."  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry about Kate. Is there anything I can do?" she politely offered.   
  
  
  
"No," he shook his head. "She's got the best doctors in Arizona. There's nothing anyone besides them can do," Vaughn explained.   
  
  
  
"I'm sorry about Kate, but I still don't know why you're here."  
  
  
  
His gaze turned sharply to hers as his voice grew low. "I think you do."  
  
  
  
"Vaughn," Sydney swallowed hard, and looked down at the progressively cool mug she held in her hands. Outside, the wind was picking up and she thought she detected the smell of a brewing storm through the open windows.  
  
  
  
"The older I get, the more difficult it becomes to... rectify things. There are things I can't change Syd, I can't go back and be a better father to Alex or a better husband to Kate..." He drew his eyes away from her, blinking rapidly before he continued in a low voice, "I can't go back and change what happened twenty two years ago, no matter how much I deconstruct or think about it, I can't."  
  
  
  
Studying her own hands, she tried to stop him, "Vaughn -"  
  
  
  
"I'm getting too old for this Syd, I'm too old to have all these regrets. I'm sick of settling, all because I had this thought that I wanted something that I never really achieved."  
  
  
  
Finally, he finished and simply stared at her, wondering if perhaps twenty years was too long. They hadn't had any other options; both had been between a rock and a hard place. There'd been a duty to fulfill, an obligation to his wife. Sydney had frankly no other option but to move on, to get past him as best she could. The beginning had been painful and difficult, extracting herself from that life, cutting all the intricately tied strings that connected her soul to his. That life had ended, without her approval or knowledge, but the only choice she had, was acceptance. Untying herself from him, from her life in Los Angeles, had been reminiscent of some twelve-step addiction program. First go a few days without crying, a few days without thinking of him every waking moment, a few days without crying at the thought of him... Eventually, he became something she thought of when she watched Claire play hockey or root for the Kings, or when she lay alone at night in her bed. Generally, she even managed to smile when she remembered him and everything he'd given her.   
  
  
  
Now he was back and had unwittingly broken her heart again. Even after her own misfortune, the disastrous last few months she had spent with David, she had hoped he'd fared better. That whoever Kate was, the faceless woman she could never bear to meet, or even see in a photograph, she made him happy. Kate was his gateway to his normal life; his daughter's birth the first stop on the route to normalcy. Somehow, her own relationship shortcomings hurt far less than the obvious pain that underlined his tone. For so long Michael Vaughn had thought the one thing he desperately wanted was normalcy. Accepting that your dream was never really what you sought, that defeat had been the outcome of your one-time-best-effort, was anything but easy.   
  
  
  
"Sydney?" Vaughn's voice softly pushed through the cobwebs that had rapidly surrounded her conscious thought. Looking at him, her eyes widened slightly in brief surprise, before she slowly stood. For the first time since he had arrived, she didn't want to talk; she was tired of whatever words they could possibly offer one another. It was getting late, nearing seven, and they both wore the signs of fatigue. After far too long away from him, from the good and bad he had brought into her life, she just wanted to be with him for a sliver of time.  
  
  
  
"I'm tired Vaughn," she sighed, emptying her coffee cup and setting it in the dishwasher. Rinsing her hands off with a dishtowel, she turned towards him, clenching the wisp of cotton fabric. "I don't want to talk anymore," she softly requested. "It's late and you've been driving all day."   
  
  
  
Understanding, he nodded and lifted his body out of the seat. "Where's the nearest hotel?"  
  
  
  
"No," she shook her head, turning away from him as she set the towel back on the counter. "You can have the sofa. It folds out into a bed. There's no need for you to stay in a hotel," she softly insisted. She tossed a glance over her shoulder, relieved to see him nod. "I was going to make dinner. I know it's not much, but is spaghetti okay? I need to go grocery shopping."  
  
  
  
"That's fine Syd," he promised. Hesitantly, Vaughn continued, "I have a bag in the car -"  
  
  
  
"You could probably use a shower," Sydney noted, sounding far more like a mother than his former asset as she slinked gracefully around the kitchen. "The hot water takes a few seconds to kick in, but the bathroom is all yours," she promised, occupying her attention away from him as he nodded and disappeared out the back door. His sneakers crunched over the concrete steps and the gate lock hitched as he slid through.   
  
  
  
Turning towards Gehrig, she met her dog's tilted head in matching confusion. Remembering a long-forgotten memory, she repeated the mantra she had used, seemingly a lifetime ago, in a weak attempt to convince herself and her best friend: "It's not worth fantasizing about, nothing's ever going to come of it," she whispered, as Gehrig blinked and carefully studied her before he dropped his chin to his blanket in exhaustion.   
  
  
  
If only she could believe now what she hadn't even believed then, she sighed as she began preparing the pasta.   
  
  
  
He was quiet as he snuck back into the house, sharing a brief look with Sydney before he disappeared behind her bathroom door. Moving around the kitchen, wiping down counters and straightening up her always hectic kitchen table, Sydney struggled not to listen to the sound of the shower water beating against him. This man had once shared her soul; perhaps he still did. Welcoming him into her life, into her bed, a lifetime ago, had been an easy transition. Now the thought of him going through the mundane act of showering in her own bathroom had her on edge.  
  
  
  
Despite her best efforts to stop it, ever so briefly, her flawless memory conjured up the image of Michael Vaughn in the shower. Pressing the sponge even deeper against the spotless countertops, she swore at herself for suddenly remembering how long it had been since she'd been with a man. The bitter mixture of her desire to both hurt and protect him from her relationship with Peter hadn't sparked her to lie. They'd been together eight months, and it was nothing serious.  
  
  
  
The water boiling, she quickly worked through her daily ritual of setting the table, a habit she had kept up even after Claire left for Stanford. Some days Georgia came over for coffee or dinner, other nights Peter would swing by, watch television with her and share a meal. The mere routine of setting the table, clearing off the plates, and loading the dishwasher were all clogs in the life she had built herself; tiny but crucial parts of the comfort she had created.   
  
  
  
With the setting complete for dinner and the food still preparing, she left the kitchen. Stepping through the family room, she rounded and climbed the staircase, turning right to the linen closet. The closed door to Claire's room served as a reminder of the young woman she'd never stop missing, but had grown accustomed to being without. Shutting the sad musings out of her mind, she grabbed what would be necessary for Vaughn that night as she retreated back to the kitchen, the stairs creaking under her feet.  
  
  
  
Finally arriving back into the kitchen, she was surprised to see him there. The dampness made his hair a shade darker than normal, still sticking up in various directions, although he'd certainly ran his fingers through it. Donning jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers, he stood over her stove wearing a guilty _expression. "The water was boiling. I put the spaghetti in. I didn't think you'd mind."  
  
  
  
"That's fine," she quickly assured him. Peter had been over countless occasions, even preparing dinner a few times, and she refused to wonder why Vaughn looked far more at home there than the current man in her life ever had. "Would you like something to drink?"  
  
  
  
"No thank you," he easily replied, shaking his head slightly with a half smile. Nodding, she poured herself a drink and obtained the colander, careful not to brush her body against his as he leaned against the counter, arms folded and watching her. Just moments after she set her glass on the table, the pasta finished and in silence, she dished out two plates.   
  
  
  
Sitting across from him, the vase of flowers pushed against the back of the table, they quietly began to share the meal. Tossing a brief look in his direction, she remembered the first time she'd ever made him a meal. With that memory came the promise she had made herself on that evening, that even if he hadn't kept her busy all night, she wouldn't have slept. Instead, she planned on cherishing their first night together, since the first time only happened once. Although, she had once firmly believed it would be the first of a lifetime of nights.  
  
  
  
"What?" he chuckled softly, catching the soft smile on her face.  
  
  
  
"Excuse me?" She brushed hair out of her face, looking up at him in slight surprise.  
  
  
  
Vaughn's grin grew as he shook his head slightly. "You looked like you were somewhere else."  
  
  
  
For a second she considered her response before she met his gaze across the table and answered softly, "I was."  
  
  
  
After a moment Vaughn nodded, sensing that she did not want to discuss whatever she was remembering any further. By the look on her face, he could only assume it was good. The optimist in him could only hope he had been involved. Other than the brief exchange, the meal was taken in silence. Both silently understood that the other one was wrapped up in memories; confronted with a lifetime of what could have been. Whether the path had been sinisterly chosen for them or made from their own doing, it was one they could not go back and retrace. Instead, they were left with the good, the bad, and the regrets.  
  
  
  
"I have office hours tomorrow morning," Sydney finally broke the silence, standing over her kitchen sink as Vaughn brought over his plate. "I don't have any classes tomorrow though," she added. Aware that he stood close by her side, feeling the warmth of his body and his gaze, she kept her eyes on scrubbing the plate. "I don't know what your plans are. I'm sure you have to get back to Los Angeles, the agency -"  
  
  
  
"I have some time off," he injected. "Actually... It was 'strongly recommended' that I take some time off to consider my...opportunities at the agency," he carefully worded.   
  
  
  
Glancing briefly over her shoulder, Sydney sent him a playful smirk. "They must really want you."  
  
  
  
"They must," he chuckled.   
  
  
  
"You must be exhausted," she noted, wiping her hands on her dishtowel.   
  
  
  
Biting back a yawn, Vaughn couldn't help but grin. "A little."  
  
  
  
"I put out some pillows and blankets for you, in the family room. I'd offer you Claire's room, but it's not exactly fit for guests. I'm not entirely sure it's fit for her to even sleep in," she explained.  
  
  
  
"Unknown life forms grow there?" he teased.  
  
  
  
Sydney laughed and shook her head slightly, "Nothing I've ever seen." Growing serious she added, "You'll probably need some help, moving the coffee table over and pulling out the bed."  
  
  
  
"I can handle it Syd," he promised. "You've already done more than enough."  
  
  
  
Finally conceding, she glanced down at her outfit and back at him. "I think I'll go get changed," she commented. "I'll be back in a few minutes."   
  
  
  
Vaughn's eyes remained on her as she rounded the corner out of the kitchen. Moments later he followed, slowly pushing the coffee table to the side as he heard her feet climb the squeaky staircase. Pulling the sofa cushions off, he placed them to the side, admiring the view of her deck and back yard from the French doors before he pulled out the bed. Not surprisingly, it was already prepared, neatly made with inviting sheets and even a light blanket. All that he needed was the lightweight comforter and pillows she had brought him. Unsure of what to do, he sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the remote control, flicking on a Kings game as he waited her reentrance.  
  
  
  
Upstairs, in the sanctuary of her own room, Sydney pushed through the once endless pile of clothes in her walk in closet. Across from the master bedroom was a matching closet, suitable for a significant other, that had been barren for longer than it had ever been busy with activity. Next to the empty walk in was a small room that had once been Claire's nursery, perfect for late nights with an infant that she now used for filing cabinets. Back in her own closet she struggled to find a comfortable and modest pair of pajamas, almost a lifetime ago having settled on wearing long nightshirts to bed with no one besides her daughter around. Finally discovering the cotton pajama set she had desperately sought, she let out a sigh of relief and quickly changed.  
  
  
  
Anxiety capturing him, he stood and paced the family room. Pictures were everywhere on the computer and antique desk on one side of the family room. Framed photos graced the wall above the television and were settled on top of the bookshelf that housed books Vaughn remembered her loving. The pictures told the story of the life she had lived without him; the life he hadn't been there to share. There were pictures of her standing on her back stoop, blowing bubbles at an amazed, pint-sized Claire as Gehrig hovered in the background; snapshots of a bleary eyed Claire and an excited Gehrig sitting on the floor in front of the tree on Christmas morning. Images of Halloweens past, mother & daughter dressed up for the festivities. School photos, moments forever captured of a sweaty but smiling Claire and Sydney, presumably after a victory in field hockey. A few photos of Will, Jack and Dixon were tossed in for good measure, along with people he didn't recognize, but could only assume were friends. The image that surprised him the most, however, was of a younger Sydney and Claire standing in front of the house, wearing wide grins and matching Los Angeles Kings apparel.   
  
  
  
"Hey," Sydney greeted, rounding the corner into the room. For a moment, he glanced at her like a deer caught in the headlights before she softly came to stand next to him, studying the same pictures. "She hates getting her picture taken. Absolutely detests it."  
  
  
  
"Claire?" he guessed, as she nodded.  
  
  
  
"Most teenage girls love getting their pictures taken, or at least I thought... It's my fault. She calls it the curse of the only child. I always had a camera," she smiled. "I still do when I see her."  
  
  
  
Vaughn nodded and glanced at what he suspected was the most recent photo of Claire, then back at Sydney. "She's beautiful Syd," he complimented. His words were the truth. For the most part, Claire had inherited her mother's looks - high cheekbones, brunette hair, and an athletic body. Aside from the obvious height difference - Sydney still towered a few inches over her daughter - the youngest Bristow woman was all her mother. Even her eyes were the same striking brown that had stunned him in her mother decades earlier.  
  
  
  
"She's wonderful," Sydney agreed. "She's very photogenic, but I doubt she's had a picture taken of herself since she left home," she grinned.   
  
  
  
Silently he nodded, thinking of the child he hadn't fathered; had never even met. There was no room to argue that he loved Alexandra; that she was a great young woman, but he couldn't help but wonder how things might have been different. Perhaps if Sydney had been his wife, there was the chance that he would have been a better father. Even though that shouldn't have had an impact on his role as a father, it had. Kate was a good woman, and they had been relatively happy, but he allowed himself to become absorbed back into his job in a way he never had when he'd been with Sydney. Unless they'd been working together, he silently amended.  
  
  
  
"You must be tired," she spoke, easily picking up on his change in demeanor. "I should still be home when you wake up. If you need anything, I'm just at the top of the stairs. The door on the left," she explained. Uncomfortably Sydney broached the subject, "If you leave before -"  
  
  
  
"I won't leave before you see me again," Vaughn quickly stopped her. Now that he was there, he wondered how he could be expected to leave at all.   
  
  
  
"Well...Everything's in the kitchen. You know where the bathroom is. If the cats jump on the bed, just put them back on the floor, they learn quick," she promised. "Do you need anything?"  
  
  
  
"I think I'll be okay Syd," he assured her. "Thank you," he softly added.  
  
  
  
"It's nothing," she quickly dismissed. Half turned to leave the room, she paused to look back at him. "Good night Vaughn."  
  
  
  
"Night Syd."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
As she grew older, Sydney had discovered that sleep was more difficult to come by, particularly at night. That night was no exception. She suspected it was even more difficult for her to capture the elusive slumber than usual. The lewd side of her mind kept remembering that it was the first time in twenty-four years that she'd slept on top of Michael Vaughn, while her brain rushed with sympathy and leftover curiosity at his sudden arrival. If someone had told her twenty-four hours earlier that Vaughn would be in Trinidad, never mind sleeping in her home, it would have seemed like the most unlikely thing in the world.  
  
  
  
Eventually the sun rose, pulling her along with it. Somehow she'd managed to get some rest, having fallen asleep for a handful of hours between twilight and dusk. The man sleeping on her roll out sofa was the first thing on her mind as she carefully stepped down the stairs, cautious not to make any unnecessary noise. Gehrig, still half asleep, followed down the stairs faithfully behind his mistress.  
  
  
  
Arriving on the main floor of her home, she quietly stepped a few feet into the family room and stopped. Less than a room away from her, Vaughn appeared to be peacefully sleeping. Any sign of distress on his face was gone. Instead, he was cuddled up with his cheek resting against the pillowcase, facing her in his sleep. Glancing down at her slippers, she remembered the last time she had woken up in his arms. Now twenty-two years past that fated morning, she wondered what they might have done differently if they'd known the outcome.   
  
  
  
When Sydney looked back over at him, she was surprised to see his eyes open. Then as he spoke, she was surprised to hear that his voice was devoid of any sleep. "You never let me explain."  
  
  
  
There was no doubt in her soul that he wasn't referring to his sudden arrival in Trinidad. Instead, Vaughn clearly meant her reappearance in Hong Kong so many years ago. Sydney hadn't let him explain, hadn't had the real desire for an explanation. By then it was already obvious that her life was in pieces. Nothing he could have said would have made it any easier, or certainly not any better, despite his best intentions.   
  
  
  
"Vaughn," she sighed, briefly peeling her eyes from his.   
  
  
  
"It's true Sydney," he pressed on. Turning back to him, she found him sitting on the edge of the bed. "It's been over twenty years and I deserve the chance to explain."  
  
  
  
"You said so yourself Vaughn, it's been over twenty years. What would be the point?"  
  
  
  
"What's the point?" he replied, as she nodded skeptically. "The point is that it's something you should have let me do years ago. It's killed me, Sydney, knowing you never gave me at least a chance to try to explain. Instead, you just cast me aside," he bitterly recalled. Standing at his full height, he slowly approached her as he continued, "Damn it Sydney, you were back and you wouldn't let me near you! Do you have any idea how difficult that was?"  
  
  
  
"Why are you doing this?" she hissed. "What's the point Vaughn? No amount of talking is going to go back and change what happened," she snapped. "Why are you even here? Why come here Vaughn? Why just show up and start this mess all over again? Haven't we gone through this enough times? It was decided a long time ago for us. You're just making this more difficult for both of us!"  
  
  
  
Vaughn's usually vibrant eyes grew small as he glared at her. "Why am I here?" he repeated the question. Standing her ground, Sydney nodded. Lifting his voice he answered her, "Because I'm fifty-seven years old and I don't have any other place to go Syd. Is that what you want to hear? That I've got nowhere else to go, but here. Damn it, even Weiss is married! This is the only place I could think of," he confessed, his voice growing progressively lower throughout his tirade.   
  
  
  
Studying him for a moment, Sydney silently sank down to the edge of the bed. After she released a heavy sigh, she met his eyes as he towered at his full height. "I'm listening."  
  
  
  
"You have no idea what it was like for me Syd, for any of us. Damn, I still have nightmares about it," he muttered. Pulling a chair over from the desk, he dragged it over to a place in front of the couch. Finally he settled his body against the soft wood, unable to meet her eyes as he spoke. "Your... disappearance made all of us a mess. Dixon, Will, your father... Even Kendall and Carrie, who barely even knew you... But... It was the worst for me. Your father had already lost someone; he was far better at compartmentalizing, being stone faced than I'll ever be. You weren't just my work partner or my colleague, or even my girlfriend Syd..." Vaughn's green eyes finally reached hers. "Nearly every free moment I had - and some moments I *didn't* have - were spent with you. Every part of my day, of my life, Syd, and I had let myself get used to things that way," he confessed. He then looked away and allowed his voice to drop. "I liked it that way."  
  
  
  
A short distance from him, she struggled to listen to his explanation as the tears pooled in her eyes. When a loud sniffle escaped her, she swiftly wiped the moisture from her eyes. The memories brought an obvious gathering of tears in front of his own eyes, tears that Vaughn refused to let escape. Finally, he continued.   
  
  
  
"I spent... months looking for you, for Sloane or Sark, or any lead. Anything Syd... Then Kendall decided you were dead. After a few more months even your father and Dixon agreed..." he recalled. Venom suddenly appeared in his voice while he added, "I watched you become a damn star on some fucking wall Sydney. As if that was supposed to justify what happened, or appropriately commend all that you had done for the agency. Half the idiots at the memorial service hadn't even met you... I stood in front of your *grave* Sydney. The whole time knowing it was my fault -"  
  
  
  
"Vaughn, no," she began to protest.  
  
  
  
"It's the truth," he shook his head sadly. "I should have seen it, I should have gone in with you... There were a million things I could have done to change what happened to you Sydney. No one was closer to you or the situation than I was, and I let the agency down," he sighed. Tilting his eyes from hers he added, "I let you down."  
  
  
  
Sniffling, she shook her head. "You never let me down, Vaughn. There was nothing you could have done," Sydney reasoned.  
  
  
  
Vaughn nodded, quickly wiping the bottom of his nose before he continued, "I met Kate a year after you... disappeared," he recalled. "She was nothing like you. She was an illustrator. She still has her own comic strip," he explained. "We had fun. With her, I could forget... God Sydney, I just wanted to forget. I was starting to get numb, and I knew I'd never do you justice if I was numb... We'd been married for about five months when you reappeared," he recalled. Silently, Sydney accepted this information, aware that it would be useless to say anything about his already dissolved marriage, despite the pain it had caused her.  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry Syd," his voice cracked as he continued, "I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you after your return, that I couldn't be there the way you needed me... My hands were tied..."  
  
  
  
"You were married Vaughn," she softly comforted him. "You were a good husband. You owed Kate your loyalty. I understand," she promised. What she spoke was the truth. Sydney Bristow understood, and even respected Michael Vaughn for his loyalty to his then-wife, but she made no comment of *liking* it.  
  
  
  
"Things... They didn't work out the way I thought they would Syd. They haven't in a long time," he confessed. "I can't change the way things turned out, I can't go back and fix things. What I did, what happened, when you were... gone. I never wanted to hurt you Sydney, I would never betray your trust. I don't imagine that it's any consolation for you, but it is the truth."  
  
  
  
"You went to Hong Kong, you brought me back to Los Angeles... You did everything you could for me," she assured him, her mind working through the painful memories. The first few months back in Los Angeles had been the most emotionally difficult time of her life. Nothing had been untouched by time. Except her. She had been desperate to understand everything.  
  
  
  
"You pushed me away Sydney," Vaughn recalled. "Damn it, you just pushed me away... I felt like I'd lost you again."  
  
  
  
Sydney's watery eyes grew as she glared at him. "What exactly was I supposed to do? You were *married*!"  
  
  
  
"I wanted to be there for you Syd! You let Dixon and Will, and hell, even Weiss help you out. You wouldn't even let me be your friend," he growled.  
  
  
  
"What would've been the point?"  
  
  
  
"The point is, I could have helped you!"  
  
  
  
Dropping her voice to a bitter hiss, she finally replied. "I was trying to get my life together! I had enough to deal with Vaughn! If I had you around, I would have done nothing but think about what I'd lost! I had to move on."  
  
  
  
"You didn't have to cut me out of your life altogether Syd! You didn't have to ignore me or have me find out that you left the CIA from Kendall! For years I was your ally Sydney, I thought we were *friends* before anything else. You couldn't even give me the courtesy of saying goodbye!"  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry that you weren't my first concern," she replied dryly. Growing bitter she continued, "Maybe I should have said goodbye, but being around you was not as easy for me as you seem to think it was! God Vaughn, I would have rather been in a dentist's chair in Taipei than look at you! It took me years before I could even think about you, the good and the bad, without getting upset! Damn it Vaughn, I thought what we had was important, and I come back less than two years later and you're married!"  
  
  
  
"That's not fair Sydney!" he barked. "I thought you were *dead*! It's not like I went out *looking* for a wife! I was almost thirty-five when you disappeared. I was thinking about getting married and starting a family. Don't you dare fault me for wanting normalcy. It was perfectly fine with you when I shared it with *you*!"  
  
  
  
"I wasn't dead!" she cruelly reminded him. "Every time I looked at you, all I could think was that it should have been *me*, Vaughn! You try having some sociopath who betrayed you and then is seemingly obsessed with ruining your life kidnap you, and see how you cope! Then to find out that you..." her voice cracked as she shook her head. "To find out that I'd lost you."  
  
  
  
Vaughn's eyes slid shut as he swallowed back his tears. Clearing his throat, his green eyes grew visible as he looked at her. "You never had to lose me Sydney," he softly corrected her. "Maybe things weren't the way they were after you disappeared, but you never had to lose me. I never would have willingly walked out of your life." 


	4. Chapter 3

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
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Michael Vaughn had never been anything short of a man of his word. Unlike many men she'd encountered, in and out of the world of espionage, what he said meant something to him. Sitting across from him, her head dizzy from the rush of information she'd encountered over the first fifteen minutes she'd been awake, she wondered if it was her own pride or the stubbornness of both of them that kept them apart for far longer than necessary.  
  
  
  
Not to say that the absence didn't do her good. Despite the anguish it originally caused, she had built her own life. Admittedly, there'd been road bumps along the way, events and people she wasn't especially proud of, but in the end she'd pulled out the victor. As a result she had a beautiful daughter, playing for a prestigious program at one of the best colleges in the country. A home she loved, well kept and carefully decorated with nearly two thirds of her mortgage paid. One dog who adored her and who she swore had as much intelligence as any human she'd ever encountered, and three ambitious, playful, but truly loyal cats. She'd never be famous or especially well off; Sydney had already accepted that one day she'd probably die a quiet death with her daughter by her side. Her obituary would be just another among the many on the newspaper print, just another plot in some massive California cemetery. Still, she would have had a job she loved, a daughter who she loved and who loved her, and ultimately, no regrets.  
  
  
  
Except one.  
  
  
  
And now the embodiment of all her regrets, all the things that she had willed herself to forget, was quietly implying that none of it had been necessary. Maybe not for him, but for her, the geographic distance between them had been mandatory. As sweet as the offer was, being his friend had not been a feasible option. That would have meant seeing him with his wife, putting a face, a voice, a personality to the woman she long ago refused to give much thought to. Sydney Bristow was a master at compartmentalizing, but nothing compared to the job her mind had been forced to do when it had encountered the existence of a Mrs. Michael Vaughn.  
  
  
  
"Vaughn," she cleared her throat. Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she watched the wind blowing through the trees, rustling the leaves in a sign of the storm to come. If she paused long enough she suspected she could even pick up the scent of the storm bouncing off the nearby ocean. "I should have given you an opportunity to explain," Sydney conceded, glancing down at her bare hands. Jewelry was never something she'd invested much into, and her daughter had fallen suit. The only jewelry Claire wore was her class ring, while the only ring that ever graced Sydney's finger was the diamond ring Danny had given her a lifetime ago.  
  
  
  
"Thank you for listening to me," he awkwardly cleared his throat.   
  
  
  
Nodding, she slowly pulled to her feet, standing only a few inches from where he sat. "I'll go put on the coffee. I'm not much of a cook but I could make some French toast or pancakes if you want."  
  
  
  
"Whatever you want is fine," he insisted, slowly standing and following her into the kitchen.  
  
  
  
"I just usually have a bagel or toast, unless it's the weekend and Claire's home."  
  
  
  
Vaughn shrugged, "Toast is fine."  
  
  
  
Sydney nodded and popped the bread in the toaster, glancing out again at the slowly darkening sky. "We could try to eat out on the deck, if you'd like."  
  
  
  
"Syd, I'm not sure that's such a good idea." His lips tweaked to an endearing angle. Opening her back door, he looked out through the back screen. "Is that a playground?" he asked, catching a glimpse of a swing set and jungle gym just behind the fence of her property.  
  
  
  
"Yeah," she smiled, walking up to his side, careful not to touch him. "Claire used to play there when she was little. There's a baseball field behind it too, you just can't see it," she explained. Vaughn detected her voice growing wistful as she continued. "When she was little, during the spring and summer, you could sit in Claire's room with the window open and actually hear the games. Not everything, of course, but you could hear the umpire and some of the hits, sometimes even the kids and the crowds. All the little league teams would play there. I think that's why Claire still prefers listening to play by play on the radio instead of watching baseball games on television," she concluded, turning around to get the newly made toast.  
  
  
  
"Did she play little league?" he inquired.  
  
  
  
"Softball," she explained. "For a few years, until it became obvious in high school that she couldn't play softball *and* field hockey. She decided on hockey," Sydney shrugged. "She was an excellent catcher, pretty decent hitter. Last summer she worked at a local camp, umpired some little league games, she still has fun with it. Claire plays basketball too."  
  
  
  
"I didn't realize you were such an athlete Syd."  
  
  
  
Grinning she shook her head, swallowing her jam-covered toast and corrected him. "I danced. Ballet..." she trailed off, looking away as she softly continued. "My mother started me dancing and playing piano in kindergarten. When she . . . left, my father just kept paying for it. I danced until I was a freshman in high school and my father chose the one boarding school in the area that didn't offer dancing."  
  
  
  
"That must have been difficult."  
  
  
  
"Now I think it wasn't just a coincidence - he didn't want me doing anything that reminded either of us of my mother..." She cleared her throat. "I hated him for it at the time. I think I understand a bit better now."  
  
  
  
"Did Claire ever dance?"  
  
  
  
"For about three years, but she didn't really enjoy it. I never wanted to make her do anything she didn't like, so we looked around. She did ballet and piano and karate. Everything and anything I could find," she smiled as she recalled her daughter's stubborn nature. "Finally we found out she loved sports, and her uncle started teaching her how to play the guitar when she was three."  
  
  
  
"Her uncle?"  
  
  
  
Sydney tilted her head toward her kitchen window. "Richard. Georgia's husband. Claire calls them her Aunt and Uncle. Richard passed away a few years ago. Rick and Georgia had two boys and one girl, all around her age, and they'd play sports together. So when Claire found Rick's guitar one day, she became fascinated, and he started teaching her."  
  
  
  
"At three?"   
  
  
  
"She was advanced for her age." Sydney blushed and shrugged. "She's pretty good too. Last year, when she was having trouble deciding on a college, she said she was going to move to Los Angeles or New York and busk for a living."   
  
  
  
"Busk?"  
  
  
  
"Make a living out of playing guitar and singing in the subways," she explained. "Luckily, Stanford recruited her."  
  
  
  
"Do you think she would have done it?"  
  
  
  
"She would have," Sydney nodded, taking another bite of her breakfast. "I'm not much better. After high school I wanted to move to Paris and study literature or write... Anything to get away from my father," she recalled, shaking her head slightly. "Then I got accepted to the program at UCLA, came to my senses and went. At the time I couldn't even speak French - moving to Paris would have been pretty silly," she laughed as he joined her.  
  
  
  
"Claire Bristow, professional busker," he suggested as she rolled her brown eyes.  
  
  
  
"Claire is, thankfully, past that phase. She's good, she really is," Sydney seriously added. "I just don't want her making a living playing in some subway for other people's change."  
  
  
  
"We can't live their lives for them Syd," Vaughn softly reminded her.  
  
  
  
Looking down at her empty plate, she slowly nodded. "I know. I just want the best for her."  
  
  
  
"She sounds wonderful."  
  
  
  
Sydney beamed with pride and agreed. "She's a great kid."  
  
  
  
With another small grin, he nodded and slowly turned serious. "No classes today?"  
  
  
  
"None," she shook her head. "I do have some office hours later though," she explained. Dipping her voice Sydney continued, "I don't know what your plans are..."  
  
  
  
Vaughn nodded, not entirely sure of his own plans. As tempting as it was, he could not live this seemingly isolated existence with Sydney forever. For one, he wasn't even sure she would have invited him if she could have. Plus he had obligations, a job and a daughter a few hundred miles away. He liked to consider himself a responsible man, who lived up to those expectations in his life. No matter how seductive it appeared to be, he couldn't walk away from his life like that.  
  
  
  
"I should probably head back in a few hours," he realized. For a brief moment, meeting her gaze, he thought he'd imagined the slight disappointment that wavered behind the chocolate orbs.  
  
  
  
"Have you decided about the director position?"   
  
  
  
"I probably should know when I get back," he sighed.   
  
  
  
"It's a wonderful opportunity," she reasoned, her tone reminding him of the many professors he'd had in college.   
  
  
  
"Syd..." he started, the gentle way he still managed to speak her nickname catching her off guard. "They offered me early retirement last year, did Eric tell you?" he inquired. Sydney shook her head as he continued. "They offered it to him too. Neither one of us took it. We've both done far more than the mandatory twenty years for the retirement fund... I don't know how much longer I'll be with the agency; I'm not sure how much longer I want to be doing this. I also don't know if I want to spend the rest of my time with the agency turning into someone like Devlin... Or Kendall." His nose scrunched in disgust at the possibility.  
  
  
  
"Kendall was FBI to start with," Sydney reminded him, once her soft laughter died. Soberly, once he flashed her a smile, she continued. "I don't think you'll ever become them Vaughn, no more than my father ever would have. I can't tell you which decision is the right one for you."  
  
  
  
"What would you do?"  
  
  
  
"They would never offer it to me," she pointed out with a silly grin. A moment later she added seriously, "If I felt I really wanted it, that I was doing it for the right reasons, I'd do it. You could make really wonderful changes Vaughn, but only if you do it for the right reasons. If not, everyone will be miserable," she reasoned.  
  
  
  
"I still don't understand why they offered it to me," Vaughn sighed, accepting the cup of coffee she offered him.   
  
  
  
"They respect you. Perhaps the CIA hasn't always liked your tactics, but you're a good agent."  
  
  
  
"That's still not an answer," he smirked.  
  
  
  
"The only one who knows the answer is you," she calmly pointed out with the wisdom only a woman of her age could acquire. In this life he had invaded, the one she had built for herself, there was a sense of peace that he had never seen her wear before. There was nothing to prove, nothing more pressing than a few papers to correct and a house full of well-behaved and loyal pets to care for. The peace in every way suited her, but he couldn't help but wish he'd been a part of it.  
  
  
  
Looking at her, it was plain as day that this was not the woman who had left him behind. This woman had pictures of a daughter on her walls; phone calls from her mother and father on her caller identification box. Now she had coasters in her family room and a clothesline in her backyard. Above all of this, despite all of these changes, Sydney Bristow was still the woman he loved, and that's what struck him most of all.  
  
  
  
"It really is beautiful up here," he commented, glancing out her kitchen window.  
  
  
  
"It's horrible out there today," she corrected, studying the darkening sky and angry winds attacking her windows.   
  
  
  
"Do you have any plans for next weekend?" he asked suddenly.  
  
  
  
Sydney hid a grin. "Excuse me?"  
  
  
  
"I don't want to assume anything here Syd..."  
  
  
  
"What about next weekend?" she pressed, her smile growing.  
  
  
  
"I could plan on coming up... If you're not busy with Peter..." he muttered more to himself than her. Sydney smiled softly, wondering if he realized how silly and ultimately pointless his jealousy was. "You could show me around. Will says this place has the best seafood on the west coast."  
  
  
  
"We do," she calmly agreed, sipping her coffee. "Peter and I don't have any plans made," she conceded. "I could show you the pier," Sydney casually suggested.  
  
  
  
Vaughn grinned. "There's a pier?"  
  
  
  
"Not like the one in L.A., but yes," she confirmed. "Right by the Seascape, one of the best seafood restaurants anywhere."  
  
  
  
"Better than Trattordi de Nardi?"   
  
  
  
"That's Italian." She grinned. "And you can't see seabirds and otters and harbor seals in Rome. Next month they start crab fishing at the pier too."  
  
  
  
With a soft smile edged from ear to ear, his voice was as sweet as she ever remembered when he finally opened his mouth. "It sounds wonderful," he agreed. Eventually, his smile disappeared as she looked down at her coffee cup. Sounding far more responsible, more like the handler she had originally known, he asked, "What about Claire?"  
  
  
  
"She won't be home for thirteen days."  
  
  
  
"You're counting?"  
  
  
  
Sydney smiled widely, unashamed of her eagerness for her daughter's return as she shrugged. "It seems like forever. I can't wait. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"  
  
  
  
Despite the apparent success of his sudden visit, of the strides they had taken, Vaughn wasn't hopeful enough to mistake this for an invitation. "I usually spend it with Weiss."  
  
  
  
"For how long?" she asked softly, unable to look at him as she asked the dreaded question. Thanksgiving should always be about family, and with his mother gone and his daughter and ex-wife in another state, Weiss was all he had.  
  
  
  
"A few years," he explained, clearing his throat.   
  
  
  
"Vaughn -"  
  
  
  
"It's fine. I have a good time," he promised.   
  
  
  
Nodding, Sydney accepted this part of his life, fighting the immense sadness it had planted in her. "Megan's a good cook?"  
  
  
  
"Not the best, but close," he agreed.   
  
  
  
"I'm sorry, it's still hard for me to imagine him married." She grinned as his smile agreed.  
  
  
  
"No one was more surprised than he was," he agreed. Seriously he added, "It suits him though. They really love one another. Megan makes him happy, he makes her happy. That's really all it comes down to, isn't it?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah..." Her goofy smile turned nostalgic as she nodded. "It is."  
  
  
  
"So, next weekend?"  
  
  
  
Looking at him, Sydney wondered where along the way they both began taking for granted the ability to plan ahead. It had taken her years before she allowed herself to plan more than twenty-four hours ahead. Only as Claire began school did she really begin to look ahead at her life. There were class plans and schedules made out, lectures planned ahead, but she was aware that anyone with half a brain could do that. Still, the uninvited memory of the last time they made plans knocked on the front door of her mind.   
  
  
  
The serious expression on her face caused his heart to drop as her eyes did the same. Studying her for a moment, it wasn't long before Vaughn sensed what had her so upset. Quietly, his voice barely reached her ears when he spoke. "It won't be like Santa Barbara Syd," he promised.  
  
  
  
Finally, her eyes met his again as she nodded, freeing the tiniest of smiles. "Okay. If you were comfortable you could stay on the sofa bed again. The hotels around here can be pretty expensive, even during the winter."  
  
  
  
"I don't want to intrude -"  
  
  
  
"Vaughn," she stopped him, her dimples flashing. "Seriously. Intrude all you want," she teased. Laughing, he nodded and silently agreed to take up her invitation.   
  
  
  
"I should get going," he regretfully realized.   
  
  
  
"Like that?" she teased, silently referring to his comfortable sleepwear.  
  
  
  
"The only person in the car is me and I don't care how I look," he grinned. "I really should go though," Vaughn repeated as the brunette nodded.   
  
  
  
Slowly they each stood, taking one another in for a prolonged moment, each unsure of how to say goodbye.   
  
  
  
"You don't have to tell me what you decided, but I know whatever you do choose to do with the CIA's offer, you'll make the right one," Sydney confidently assured him. Her form felt heavy as only a few feet separated them, Gehrig watching from his blanket in slight intrigue.  
  
  
  
"Syd..." He glanced out her kitchen window, to the driveway she shared with her neighbors, and the kitchen window nearly directly across from her own, before he looked back at her. "Thanks. For letting me stay here, for dinner and breakfast... For listening."  
  
  
  
"You listened to me for years," she laughed, her attempt to lighten the somber moment unsuccessful. Matching his tone she continued. "You're my friend Vaughn. If you need something and I can help, I will... Maybe that's just something we both had forgotten."  
  
  
  
Vaughn's eyes flashed briefly to the picture of Peter on her refrigerator at her casual reference to him as a friend. After nineteen years, he struggled to remember he was damn lucky to have that. The gift of friendship from Sydney Bristow was not one that was handed out easily, or to many, and was always for life. "Thanks Syd."   
  
  
  
Caving to the instinct that cried from every fiber of her being, Sydney stepped briefly into his arms. The hug reminded her of their first embrace in a damp Los Angeles warehouse, along with the awkward repercussions that it had carried. Both in their own way had been necessary, and when she stepped back, Vaughn swore he saw a spark of something in her eyes that he had feared was dead.   
  
  
  
"Next weekend?" she asked, pushing hair behind her ear as he nodded. Momentarily he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with his duffel before another silence stretched for a short eternity between them.   
  
  
  
"I'll call you this week, maybe, cement plans?" he suggested.  
  
  
  
"Sure," she nodded. "Dixon and Marshall have my number. Eric does too," Sydney instructed. Vaughn nodded as she led him towards the back screen door, holding it open for him as his body briefly brushed by hers on it's way out. "Drive safely Vaughn."  
  
  
  
"I will," he vowed with a brief tilt of his head. Softly, he took the moment to gaze at her, studying every inch that he had forgotten, and every curve that hadn't appeared until after the birth of her daughter. Sydney Bristow was no longer hard and sharp from hours of combat and self-defense. Certainly she was fit and athletic, but there was a softness to her that only someone who knew her from before, and had known her well, would have recognized. "Bye."  
  
  
  
"Bye Vaughn," she called softly, already calculating the days before he would return. 


	5. Chapter 4

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
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It quickly became apparent to Sydney that the wait for Vaughn's return would be a day shorter than anticipated. When Vaughn had requested a weekend visit, he intended to arrive Friday evening, roughly twelve hours before she had expected him. Nevertheless, it was a pleasant surprise, although she was forced to reschedule dinner with Peter to another evening. The easy-going teacher quickly agreed and any conflict was avoided.  
  
  
  
Friday afternoon, closing her office for the day and answering only what sounded like the most necessary pleas of "Professor Bristow!", she arrived home long before the sun was scheduled to set. They'd spoken once during the week, and at the time Vaughn had been uncertain of when he'd leave Los Angeles. Determined not to appear too eager to him, or even to herself, she went about her normal routine once at home. Put clothes up on the line, walk Gehrig, shower and change. By five she was fighting the pins and needles, grabbing a book and sitting on the family room sofa. She then spent the next hour and a half re-reading the first two pages.  
  
  
  
By the time she heard his car pulling into the driveway, she had yet to figure out the names of the central characters of the novel. Standing slowly, Sydney gave her outfit a quick survey, having made a conscious effort not to focus on what she wore. Still, the hope lingered that Vaughn would grace her with one of his less-than-subtle once-overs. Hushing a yapping Gehrig, she walked into the kitchen. Flipping on the radio as a cool breeze blew through the kitchen window, she hummed along with the nearly thirty year old John Mayer song on the radio, feigning casual as she heard him open her back gate and approach the back door.  
  
  
  
"Hey," Vaughn called through the open screen door. As long as she was on the main level of her home, Sydney made it a custom to keep the back and front door of her home open, letting the fresh air circulate.   
  
  
  
Beating the anxious butterflies, Sydney turned and smiled at him. "Hey," she greeted, walking over and letting him in. As he stepped in, Gehrig breezed past, quick to go romp around in the yard. "How was the drive?" she inquired, as he placed his duffel on the kitchen table and grinned at her.  
  
  
  
"Not too bad," he explained. "I hope I'm not too early -"  
  
  
  
"No, this is fine," she stopped him. Truth be told, if he'd been another hour later, she wondered if she would have gone insane. In most anxious situations, she picked up the phone and called her daughter. At that moment in time, however, Sydney wasn't sure that it would be best to tell her daughter about the new development in her life via phone. Instead, she was near certain it would be best to explain it to her daughter in person.   
  
  
  
As the silence grew, seemingly massive in the few feet that separated them, her mind began to race. "Do you need to use the bathroom? Or do you want to shower? Are you hungry? I haven't -"  
  
  
  
"I could use the bathroom," he cut off her ramble, his eyes twinkling. "Would you mind if I took a shower?"   
  
  
  
"You don't have to ask," she corrected him. As ridiculous as it was, she wanted this man to feel at home in her home. To take for granted the simple things that had once been unspoken between them. Whether or not they could ever achieve that again, whether she even really wanted it, was yet to be seen.   
  
  
  
"After I shower, we could go get something to eat. My treat."  
  
  
  
"Vaughn, you don't have to -" Sydney began to protest.  
  
  
  
Unconsciously lifting an eyebrow in a gesture she hadn't seen in over two decades, he shook his head, still smiling. "I want to, Syd."  
  
  
  
"Okay," she nodded with a grin of her own. "Go shower, I'm going to bring down some pillows and blankets for later."  
  
  
  
"Sounds good." Vaughn smiled before disappearing into the bathroom.   
  
  
  
Turning around, Sydney came face to face with Gehrig, silently begging for re-entrance at the door. "Chase all the birds away big guy?" she teased, opening the screen door as the dog trotted in. For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of watching her dog eat his dinner, listening as Vaughn rustled around in her bathroom. Exhaling heavily, she grabbed Zelda the cat off the table, scolding her in a low voice before she went to obtain the linens.  
  
  
  
Upstairs, she grabbed the necessary linens and pillows. Alone in the small side hallway, she stared at the doors to her daughter's rooms. As always, the bedroom door was securely closed, but Claire's computer room door creaked open slightly. Sticking her head in, she smiled at the signs of her daughter, due to make her arrival in just a few short days. Two desks, one that had been Jack Bristow's when he was younger, and then a more contemporary computer desk. A radio was on the antique desk and a pair of aged, tearing pajama pants had been hastily tossed on top of the radio. Soon enough, Sydney remembered, and at the moment, she had plenty on her hands.  
  
  
  
Taking a moment, she peeked into her own bedroom. Surveying the room from the doorway, she was pleased that she hadn't forgotten to turn off any lights or appliances in her daze. Grabbing an extra, unused pillow off of her bed, Sydney added it to her small but respectable pile of linens, before returning to the family room. With the pile resting on the sofa, she grabbed her glass of iced tea and strolled into the kitchen, hearing the water pound from the bathroom shower as she passed. Back in the kitchen she settled into the chair, grabbed the unread copy of the day's paper and forced herself to become interested.  
  
  
  
Less than half an hour later he emerged, donning damp bed head, jeans and a t-shirt, along with a grin that she gladly returned. "Feel better?" she casually questioned, closing the newspaper, still no more certain of world events than she'd been an hour earlier.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, thanks." His lips twisted into a charming half smile. "I left my bag in there. If that's a problem -"  
  
  
  
"Vaughn, it's fine," she stopped him.   
  
  
  
The man nodded before something caught his eye. "Is she supposed to be doing that?" he questioned.  
  
  
  
Confused, Sydney followed his eyes to see one of her two black cats jumping onto the table and slinking across with authority. "Zelda!" She stood and sighed, gently grabbing the cat and placing her back onto the floor.  
  
  
  
"How can you tell which one it is?" he chuckled.  
  
  
  
"Zelda's collar's green, Calhoun's is pink."  
  
  
  
"Hey, Zelda, isn't that a video game?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah," Sydney grinned. "It is. A pretty popular one too."  
  
  
  
"I didn't know you liked video games."  
  
  
  
"Once in awhile," she shrugged. "Killing some human-eating cactus can get the adrenaline running. Claire loves them though. Will taught her when she was younger."  
  
  
  
"Will?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah," she nodded. "He was obsessed in college. It was scary."  
  
  
  
"I bet," Vaughn laughed. "So," his smile slowly disappeared, as his hands slid into the pockets of his jeans. "Hungry?"  
  
  
  
"I am." She stood. "It looks like it's going to rain, so it's probably not a good night for Seascape," she noted in disappointment, watching the clouds slowly form out her kitchen door. "There's a place in Arcata, by school, it serves Italian. How does that sound?"  
  
  
  
"Good," he agreed. Grabbing her keys, Sydney flicked the kitchen lights out and locked the door as they departed from the house. "The dog's Gehrig, right?" he asked as she nodded. "And the cats are Calhoun, Zelda and...?"  
  
  
  
"Jeter."   
  
  
  
"I think I see a pattern here," he laughed.   
  
  
  
"Claire named them," Sydney explained. "The cats can be trouble makers, but Gehrig's a really good dog," she added. Thanking him as he held the passenger's door for her, she slid into his car before he got in on the driver's side. "Did you ever get another dog?" she asked softly, as he started the car. The news of Donovan's death had passed on to her over a dozen years earlier through both Eric and Will.  
  
  
  
"We did, but he was more Kate and Alex's dog than mine, so he's in Arizona now," he told her, his face blank as he pulled out of her driveway  
  
  
  
Regretting the question, she glanced out the window and softly sighed. They couldn't just avoid the existence of Kate or Alexandra any more than she could omit Claire from her everyday conversation. Even so, she hadn't wanted to be the one to initiate discussing them. Particularly Kate. The conversation was inevitable, along with a lifetime of other things they had missed in one another's world, or just left unspoken. Just as Sydney suspected one day soon he'd want to talk about David.  
  
  
  
"How many more days until Claire comes home?"  
  
  
  
"Five. What about Alexandra?"  
  
  
  
"It's her holiday with Kate. She's supposed to spend Christmas with me, depending on how things go," he explained, his voice cracking. "Are you going to LA for Christmas?"  
  
  
  
"We usually don't finalize our plans until after Thanksgiving, but usually we spend Christmas in LA and New Years in Washington. We go back and forth between the two for Claire's birthday. One year we'll be in LA with Will, Marshall and the Dixons, then the next we'll spend it in Washington," she explained, careful not to mention who they spent time with in Washington. Vaughn certainly knew who they went to visit, and that was enough for her.  
  
  
  
"When's Claire's birthday?" Vaughn asked. He'd always known it was sometime in December, he was just never sure when.  
  
  
  
"December 21st."  
  
  
  
"Right before Christmas."  
  
  
  
"I was due on Christmas, actually. I hated the thought of giving birth on Christmas. No one would have ever given her different gifts. I still have to remind people to give her birthday *and* Christmas presents."  
  
  
  
"You were out of the hospital in time for it though."  
  
  
  
"Thankfully." She smiled. "Claire was a good baby though. Very self-entertaining. Still is. Even at six months old, I could just sit her on the sofa with a rattle and stuffed animals and she'd play by herself for an hour."  
  
  
  
Vaughn couldn't help but smile, detecting the obvious joy the memories brought to Sydney. Despite the pain that she had endured, she'd had Claire. For that, he felt an unwavering gratitude to the young woman who he'd never even met yet, but had obviously brought Sydney years and years of joy, just as his own daughter had done for him.   
  
  
  
Following her instructions, he pulled up in front of a small, modern building. Getting out of the car, they met at the sidewalk, Vaughn internally battling the instinct to place his hand on the small of her back as they entered the restaurant. "Claire loves it here, we always come here for her birthday dinners," she explained as he held the door open for her.   
  
  
  
"Nice," he commented under his breath, surveying the restaurant. It was obviously a family establishment, and it wasn't too crowded for a Friday night.   
  
  
  
"Hey Doctor Bristow," a lanky, pimple-faced teenager behind the cash register greeted.  
  
  
  
"Hi Harry. How are you?" she greeted, approaching the counter as Vaughn stayed a step behind.  
  
  
  
"Pretty good. When's Claire coming back?"  
  
  
  
"Soon. I'm sure she'll want to see you soon."  
  
  
  
"I'm going to beat her at air hockey soon Doc, don't listen to her when she tells you otherwise," the teen insisted.   
  
  
  
Sydney laughed good-naturedly and grinned. "I'm sure you will."  
  
  
  
"Want to make yourself at home? I'll have a waitress over in a few minutes."  
  
  
  
"Thanks," she nodded. Glancing quickly at Vaughn, they walked over to a nearby booth, taking seats across from one another. "Harry's older brother is one of Claire's best friends. He's had a crush on her for an eternity," she explained as she shrugged her jacket off.  
  
  
  
Nodding, a waitress appeared to take their drink orders before Vaughn could comment. Once their drinks were on the way and they were debating the menu, the conversation continued. "So how the hell did you manage to get your doctorate?"  
  
  
  
For a moment her eyes remained glued to the menu, her cheeks slightly red as she grinned. Finally, she set the menu down and met his eyes. "It's not that big of a deal. Claire was nine when I graduated. I was only an adjunct professor with my masters. Once I got my doctorate, I became an associate professor and now I'm a full-fledged professor."  
  
  
  
"How?" he asked again. "You had Claire and you worked full time Syd."  
  
  
  
"I remember." Sydney smiled, taking a sip of her wine. "The doctorate program at the school was pretty new, but the school paid for a lot of it, since I was already a member of the faculty. I don't think I could have done it without Georgia. She would watch Claire a lot for me. Or Claire would sit in my office and read or color. When she got older she'd do homework. Sometimes she'd go to one of the libraries and read, or go use the swimming pool. I was really lucky that I was able to do it."  
  
  
  
Vaughn smiled at her and nodded. "I didn't even know you wanted to get your doctorate."  
  
  
  
"I didn't think I did. I'd also begun to think I'd never teach. So when I actually started to, getting my doctorate just made sense."  
  
  
  
While he was considering her reply, the waitress reappeared to take their order. After thanking her and being told their meal would be out shortly, they sat silently. Outside the window, the rain had begun to fall and the bell over the restaurant door chimed. Pushing hair behind her ear, Sydney was seconds away from reopening the conversation when an unexpected figure appeared in front of their table.  
  
  
  
"Sydney!" Peter grinned at her. Abruptly, the two stood, Sydney gracing him with a smile as Vaughn swiped his nose and studied his shoes.  
  
  
  
"Peter. What are you doing here?"  
  
  
  
"Dave and I were going to grab a pizza. We were supposed to hit the course but I don't think we'll be doing that tonight." He looked out the window as she nodded.   
  
  
  
"Peter, this is Michael Vaughn. Vaughn, this is Peter Caselli. Michael is the man I was telling you about," she explained to Peter.  
  
  
  
"Nice to meet you," the two men greeted, shaking hands.  
  
  
  
"Sydney said you two used to work together, when she was in Los Angeles."  
  
  
  
"That's right," Vaughn nodded, biting back the emotional sting when the other man instinctively reached for Sydney's hand.  
  
  
  
"Bank work. Sounds like it was a lot of travel."  
  
  
  
"It can be," he agreed.   
  
  
  
"How long are you in town?"  
  
  
  
"Just for the weekend. I still live in LA," Vaughn added, as the shorter man nodded.  
  
  
  
"Well, if you've got some time, feel free to join us on the course. We're always looking for someone else to play with."  
  
  
  
"I'm more of a hockey kind of guy."  
  
  
  
Peter nodded and glanced over at Sydney. "Hockey was never really my sport."  
  
  
  
"I noticed." She struggled with a smile, the other man's gaze burning into her soul.  
  
  
  
"Hey, Pete!" Another man approached the group, slightly shorter than Peter. "Sydney," he nodded at her.  
  
  
  
"Hi Dave," she smiled. Turning towards Vaughn, she continued the introductions. "Michael Vaughn, this is David Winchester. David teaches at Claire's old high school," she explained. Sydney then looked back at the high school teacher and added, "I used to work with Michael in Los Angeles."  
  
  
  
"A lifetime ago now, wasn't it?" Dave chuckled. "Well, we should let you two catch up. It was great meeting you Michael," he commented. "I'll go get us a table." He slapped his friend on the back and walked towards the back of the restaurant.  
  
  
  
"It was nice to meet you Michael. Enjoy your visit."  
  
  
  
"Thanks, and good luck on your golf game," Vaughn wished. Looking down at his shoes, he was only slightly reassured that the couple kissed one another on the cheek before he disappeared to the back of the restaurant. Once he was out of sight, the two met one another's eyes. Seconds passed as they silently stood, surveying one another. Breaking the trance, Sydney slid back into her seat and began to eat her lukewarm meal. Sighing heavily, Vaughn did the same.   
  
  
  
They ate quietly for a few minutes, few words were exchanged over the other's meal. Commenting that the food was nearly as good as Trattordi Di Nardi, he was honored with a wide smile before he set his fork down. Resting heavily against the booth, Sydney looked up at him in concern.   
  
  
  
"Are you happy?" he asked softly.  
  
  
  
Without hesitation or thought, Sydney answered automatically, "Of course."  
  
  
  
At her age, there was very little not to be happy about. A home she loved, a daughter she loved and adored; even pets she loved. Her position at the university had risen steadily, as her had popularity among her students. Somehow she had stumbled upon a nearly perfect life for herself, in a near perfect location. Even so, she knew she was even happier here, in this moment, in his company.  
  
  
  
Vaughn nodded and wondered if it was wrong to be slightly disappointed with her quick answer. After twenty years it was ridiculous to think that she still needed him to be happy. You grow your own happiness with what life gives you; of the billions of people on earth who knew that, Sydney was the master. "Peter seems like a nice guy," he finally spoke.  
  
  
  
"Yeah," she nodded, eyes set on her plate. "He really is." She glanced back at him, the tense draw of his face and the heart wrenching look in his eyes, tugged at her every instinct. Quietly, Sydney attempted to amend his pain. "If things had been different -"  
  
  
  
"I know Syd," he cut her off. For months, those words had haunted him, knowing he'd been with Alice and was still continuing to fall more and more in love with Sydney Bristow. Hearing her unconsciously return his own words two decades later, stung more than he could have predicted.   
  
  
  
Silently they finished their meal, both turning down the waitress' offer of dessert when she returned. As the check arrived, the pair slowly stood, Sydney glancing briefly at him as she slipped back into her jacket. Despite her protests, Vaughn picked up the check and walked to the register, Sydney keeping pace with him. As he pulled the correct amount out of his wallet, handing it to the young man, she placed a hand on his arm.  
  
  
  
"Is that Alexandra?" she asked, her eyes having caught on to the one photo in his wallet.  
  
  
  
"You've never seen a picture of her?" He glanced at her in surprise. When Sydney shook her head, he pulled the picture out of the plastic cover. "She looks just like Kate," he explained.  
  
  
  
Only partially hearing him, Sydney nodded. Instead, she was looking at his daughter, given her first hint of what his former wife might look like. Although she was sitting in her photo, it was obvious Alexandra was a tall young woman. Her hair was a far lighter tone of blonde than her father's had ever been, and had big blue eyes. Knowing that he hadn't married a woman who had any resemblance to her, sent mixed emotions pumping through her system. Glancing back at Alexandra, she realized the only recognizable Vaughn feature that his daughter carried was a dimpled chin.  
  
  
  
"She's beautiful." Sydney smiled, finally handing the picture back to its owner.   
  
  
  
"Thanks." He smiled uncomfortably as they departed the restaurant.   
  
  
  
Again, silence tightly tucked around them during the short car ride home. Even the music Sydney flicked on did nothing to break the air. The ride from the restaurant, while brief, was plenty long enough for the two passengers. Grabbing her keys, the two dashed into the house, unsuccessful at avoiding the pounding rain. For a few seconds, she struggled with her keys before they finally entered the house.  
  
  
  
Standing in her dim kitchen, neither said a word as Gehrig sniffed them and returned to his blanket. Pushing damp hair behind her ear she finally broke the silence. "I'm pretty tired."  
  
  
  
"Yeah," he softly agreed, nodding slightly.  
  
  
  
"Do you need anything?"   
  
  
  
Vaughn shook his head, gazing at her in the dark room. Once upon a time this had been so easy. Once upon a time there had been no awkwardness, no unsure emotions, and certainly no regrets. In another lifetime, there would have been no question that they were *both* tired after returning from a Friday night dinner, although they'd likely be up until early the next morning. That phase of his life, of their lives, now lived only in memories.   
  
  
  
"I'm going to go up to bed then," Sydney explained.   
  
  
  
"I'll see you in the morning," he agreed. "Sweet dreams Syd," he called to her form as she smiled, softly wished him the same, and disappeared up the stairs.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Despite her exhaustion, Sydney did very little than dance on the brink of sleep for most of the night. The images that she had seen in Vaughn's eyes in the kitchen that evening followed her to her dreams. Memories of Zamboni's and hockey games; lazy Friday nights and even lazier Saturday mornings. Thoughts of dinners with friends, when there was no need for her to introduce him, because her friends were his. Then the horrible memory of a safehouse in Hong Kong, and how Arvin Sloane had managed to wreck the one thing in her life that had always been honest and real.  
  
  
  
Eventually, the memories, good and bad, ended and sleep crept in. For once, she was able to sleep until well after the sun woke up. Rolling over in her bed, Sydney was surprised to see that she'd managed to rope in nearly seven hours of sleep. Rising slowly from her warm comforters and fluffy pillows, she slipped her feet into her slippers. She then proceeded down the stairs cautiously, not wanting to wake her guest if he was still sleeping.  
  
  
  
Turning the corner, she was noticeably surprised to see the sofa folded back up, the blankets and pillows neatly piled at the end. Slowly, she padded into the kitchen, coming across a sight she hadn't seen in ages. Michael Vaughn sat comfortably at her kitchen table, obviously fresh from a shower, reading the newspaper. Folding the paper down, he smiled at her as she walked in.  
  
  
  
"Hey. I hope you don't mind, but I got your paper."  
  
  
  
"No." She shook her head, grabbing a glass from the pantry. "That's fine. How did you sleep?" she inquired, pouring juice into her glass.  
  
  
  
"Good," he answered. Getting comfortable in her chair, Sydney took a sip of her juice before placing it on the table. Picking up the front page of the newspaper, she watched as he picked up her glass and proceeded to drink from it as well.   
  
  
  
"I could put on the coffee," Sydney offered.  
  
  
  
Vaughn shook his head. "Juice is fine," he replied.  
  
  
  
"It cleared up," she noted through the window. "I could make toast and we can eat on the deck," she suggested.   
  
  
  
Glancing out the window, he seemed to consider her offer for a moment before he met her eyes. "You could show me the pier."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Approximately thirty-eight minutes later, her car came to a halting stop in the empty pier parking lot. Few Trinidad residents were interested in the pier on a slightly overcast morning in November. Instead, they were alone, getting out of the car as she grabbed a wax bag from the floor on the passenger's side.   
  
  
  
"This is it," she sighed, meeting him at the front of the car. Together, the pair approached the wooden pier, walking by Seascape in the process. "They really do have the best seafood," she spoke in the direction of the restaurant.  
  
  
  
"I didn't even know you enjoyed seafood that much."  
  
  
  
"It's an acquired taste," she shrugged. Slowly, they began to walk along the planks, his eyes on her as she pulled a large muffin from the wax page. To Vaughn's surprise she proceeded to break it in half, pausing momentarily to hand him the top.   
  
  
  
"This place is beautiful," he complimented, taking in the fresh air, slowly moving clouds, and rumbling waves underfoot.   
  
  
  
"I read about this place in a brochure the university sent me before I took the job," Sydney explained. Meeting his eyes, he detected the slight color in her cheeks when she added, "I think the pier was part of the reason I took the job."  
  
  
  
"Do you come here a lot?"  
  
  
  
"Actually, I lived in Trinidad for two months before I first came here," she recalled. Unable to look at him, she clarified. "David took me here."  
  
  
  
Silently he nodded, the duo reaching the end of the pier. As she ate the bottom half of the muffin, he wondered why she chose that moment to finally mention her former fiancé. The name brought back memories of a drive he took with Jack Bristow over fifteen years ago. The only words spoken on that seemingly endless drive had been whether or not to spare the man's life. Their decision was made for them when the man they encountered already reeked of liquor before noon, and whose skin was already showing the signs of far too many years of drinking. After David's brief but intense encounter with Jack Bristow and Michael Vaughn, it was obvious that he would not be bothering either Sydney or Claire ever again.  
  
  
  
Around them, the wind blew its fury, whipping her hair off of her face. The temptation to look at her was too much for him as he turned slightly to openly gaze at her. "Why?"  
  
  
  
Surprised, Sydney's brown eyes were round as she met his. For a moment, silence ensued as she swallowed the remainder of her muffin. She then pried her eyes away from his, studying some invisible point out in the ocean. "Leaving Los Angeles was *the* hardest thing I've ever done," she recalled, her long fingers pulling her hair off of her face as the wind suddenly died down. "Georgia came over the first day, so did Bill and Marie - they live on my left," she explained. "They came over, introduced themselves and welcomed me to the neighborhood. Bill taught at the university at the time; he's been retired for a long time though... I made friends with some of the faculty at the school, but... It was a lot like it was for me in college again," she remembered. "I really just went to work and stayed home. To be honest, I wasn't even interested in establishing a life here, I just wanted to be left alone."  
  
  
  
Pausing for a moment, Vaughn waited for the inevitable, bracing himself as she let out a heavy sigh, still looking away from him. "I met David a few months after I moved here. It was a Halloween party thrown by a friend of a friend... He was so outgoing and friendly. I remember we'd go grocery shopping and he'd just stand in line and talk to whoever was there, like everyone in the world was his old friend or something," she chuckled at the memories as she shook her head. "He got me out there again, he helped me rebuild everything here... There were times when he could be *such* a nice guy. Then I got pregnant, and I thought... I thought, maybe things would go my way," she sighed.  
  
  
  
"I was so busy, working and then getting ready for a baby... That's not true," she amended, more to herself than him. "I started to notice that it was more than just a drink at night. That he'd be drinking on the boat, or at lunch... At the time, it didn't seem like a lot. He was working, it was going well, and no one else seemed to think anything was wrong..." Sydney remembered. "Plus, he was *so* excited about the baby. When he was sober, he was so wonderful with children... Hell, even when he wasn't sober he could be so good with them. Will pointed it out to me at Claire's baptism. That he was drinking far too much, and that it was a regular occurrence," she sighed, and her brown eyes finally met his. "I knew that by then. I did, but it wasn't until Will said something that I realized it wasn't just my imagination."  
  
  
  
"Syd..."   
  
  
  
"It wasn't until I tried to get him to stop drinking, to point out that he had a problem, that he got violent," she carefully weighed her words and her tone, no longer looking at him. "At first, we'd fight and David would grab me... I'd tell him to let go and he would. He really would. Then he'd cry and apologize, say that he hadn't meant to hurt me, that his temper got out of hand... I would usually kick him out, then he'd come back in ten days or a few weeks and he'd be sober. He'd stay that way for a week or so, once it even lasted a whole month, but it would always start again..."  
  
  
  
As much as Vaughn wanted to listen, as desperately as he wanted to offer her a shoulder, he couldn't help but ask the question that had haunted him. "Why didn't you fight back?"  
  
  
  
"The last night... I still think he broke my wrist." She sighed and glanced down at her wrist. "My face was all bruised up... Up until that night, it had never been anything other than trying to hold me during an argument. He'd never really been violent before that night..." She paused for a moment. "That night I ensured that Claire would be the only child he'd ever have," she confessed with a smirk.   
  
  
  
Unable to stop himself, he chuckled and shook his head. After a few moments of laughing with her, Vaughn fell back into a more serious mind frame. "I still don't understand why you put up with it," he commented.  
  
  
  
"Until I moved to Trinidad, I'd never been alone before," Sydney calmly pointed out. "First there were nannies, then boarding school, then I roomed with Francie in college, then Danny and I were living together, and eventually I lived again with Francie," she pointed out. "I wasn't *scared* of being alone, I just didn't like it. I liked having someone there when I got home, someone to talk to, someone to just share my day with... Then we had Claire," she sighed. "I wanted to give my daughter more than I ever had. I wanted to give her a family, and a good childhood. I wanted her to look back on growing up and not feel as if I'd forced her into anything, or alienated myself from her."  
  
  
  
"What happened?" he prompted.  
  
  
  
"I realized that I could give Claire more than I had. That I could be a good, strong, loving and devoted mother even if I was single. That by giving her that, I was giving her more than I had. I realized then that I was teaching her that it was okay, or even normal to accept being treated so poorly; that it was all right to let someone hurt you... I hated myself for that. I wouldn't do that. I will let Claire become whatever person she wants to be, but I refuse to let her become that woman."  
  
  
  
"I don't think she will," Vaughn commented.  
  
  
  
"Neither do I," Sydney grinned. "In the end, I have given her more than I had. I'm lucky, I really am. She was always such a good baby, and I think she's given me more than I could ever give her."  
  
  
  
"Did you love him?"  
  
  
  
Surprised by the question, Sydney looked at him for a moment before she looked away again. "I think I wanted to. I confused that with actually loving him. He helped me create this life here; he helped me make my daughter... I'll always be grateful to him for that. David is one half of the person Claire is, at least genetically. I love my daughter. I don't think we would be as close as we are if it wasn't for him. Even if he'd cleaned up and stayed around, it would have just ended disastrously anyway," she sighed. "She teases me that I have the worse relationship taste in the world." Sydney let a silly smile spread across her face. "Sometimes I think she's right."  
  
  
  
"Hey!" he indignantly protested.  
  
  
  
"Sorry," she laughed and looked at him. "Present company excluded."  
  
  
  
Silently, he smiled and leaned against the rail. Softly Vaughn realized, "It's okay. Claire probably doesn't know about me anyway."  
  
  
  
"No..." Her smile vanished. "She doesn't," she conceded. For a while they stood there, side by side, their arms nearly brushing as they watched the morning waves continue to silently roll in. Sydney watched the familiar sights of the sea birds and the otters going about their morning routine, safe and at peace in the area, as he silently studied her. Abruptly, she ended their tranquil silence and directly met his eyes. "What did you and my father do to him?"  
  
  
  
"Excuse me?" he stood up straight, an eyebrow instinctively rising.  
  
  
  
"Weiss told me," she stopped him. "You and my father left LA the day before David left, and didn't return until the day after. When I left home that morning, he was not cooperating about leaving or child custody or anything. I return home, everything is gone, and I never hear from him again."  
  
  
  
"Maybe he came to his senses," Vaughn shrugged the suggestion. Not looking at her, he leaned his frame against the rail, looking back out at the water.   
  
  
  
"Vaughn."  
  
  
  
Briefly, he glanced back at her and then back at the water. "Your neighbor, Georgia, she heard the arguing. Saw that you were hurt. She called Will; Will called your father. I found out where Jack was going and what happened and I offered to help."  
  
  
  
"Why?"  
  
  
  
"Why?" He looked at her in surprise. "Sydney, someone was hurting you. I wasn't just going to sit back and let that happen, no more than Jack was."  
  
  
  
"I'd been gone for almost three years."  
  
  
  
"So? Is that supposed to make a difference? Damn it Sydney, I wasn't going to do nothing. What? Do you think 'out of sight' means 'out of mind' or some bullshit like that?" he snapped. Shaking his head, he looked away from her again and sighed. "I wouldn't have been able to live with myself, knowing I hadn't done anything when I could have stopped it."  
  
  
  
"Did you kill him?" she whispered.  
  
  
  
Chuckling, Vaughn shook is head. "No. Although we considered it," he confessed. "We escorted him off of the property, made sure he had everything he could possibly need. We had a few... words with him, and put him on a plane to Nebraska."  
  
  
  
"Nebraska? What's there?"  
  
  
  
"Nothing," he smirked. "That was the point."  
  
  
  
"He didn't even try to get joint custody."  
  
  
  
Solemnly he nodded. "I know."  
  
  
  
"Thank you," Sydney said softly, studying her hands.  
  
  
  
"You could have done it yourself Sydney."  
  
  
  
"I didn't want to hurt him... Not physically. For so long, when we'd fight, he'd grab me and I'd have the instinct to hurt him... I knew what to do, how to stop him; I didn't want to hurt him. David wasn't some nameless man in my way when I was trying to complete a mission, or who was purposely out to hurt me. I thought I could do it," she sighed. "I thought about it. I'd lay awake at night, towards the end, and I'd think about what I could do. I didn't want to though. I knew that deep down he wasn't *trying* to hurt me, that he was sick, that he had a problem. It wasn't like it was when I was doing it for a living, when I never had to see the people or the repercussions... Even with... Francie's clone," she swallowed back the tears. "I knew then that it *wasn't* Francie. That there was no way it could be Francie. It looked like her, but it wasn't, and even that was hard... And it wasn't just me, it was Claire. I just wanted to give her what I didn't have."  
  
  
  
"You did Syd."  
  
  
  
"I know," she sighed and nodded. "And I'm always going to have regrets. Things I wish I'd done differently or been able to give her. I love her, and I know she loves me. She'll actually still say it, which I think makes me luckier than most mothers of teenagers," she chuckled.   
  
  
  
"I think you're right," Vaughn agreed.   
  
  
  
"I'm sorry," Sydney looked at him apologetically. "I don't mean to -"  
  
  
  
"It's fine Syd," he stopped her. He looked out at the water, the wind running through his hair. "I'm Alex's father; our relationship is different than what you have with Claire. The circumstances are different, the people are different... I love my daughter. I know she loves me, and she knows I'm there if she needs me," he sighed and looked at her. "All I can do is hope she asks."  
  
  
  
After a moment of contemplation, her arm brushed against his as she reached for his hand. For the first time in far too long, their fingers intertwined as she softly sighed. "I'm sure she does Vaughn."  
  
  
  
Suddenly, he chuckled and looked over at her, his lips twitching adorably. "You're never going to call me Michael, are you?"  
  
  
  
"Vaughn." Her eyes twinkled, her own mouth curving into a smile. At her side, her companion shook his head and looked back at the water. Not that Michael Vaughn minded. When it came down to it, he firmly believed he preferred the Vaughn Sydney Bristow knew, to the Michael that the rest of the world acknowledged.  
  
  
  
"I think it's going to rain," he sighed, as the clouds grew darker, the wind once again picking up after a brief reprieve.  
  
  
  
"I don't think it's rained two weeks in a row in years. Only you would pick the first two rainy weekends in years to come visit," she teased as he grinned.  
  
  
  
"C'mon Syd," he pulled away from the wooden rail, taking her hand with him. Silently, she shook her head, silently walking back to the car, her hand tucked comfortably in his.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The morning wasn't a rushed one. Instead, Vaughn sat in the kitchen, the two debating sports and current politics as she began making preparations for Thanksgiving. They talked about movies and music, television shows and sports. Neither brought up their children or past significant others. Instead, for a few short hours they were still the Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn of a seemingly other world; two people with nothing else to do on a Saturday but debate who was the best goalie in the NHL or which Frank Sinatra song was the most memorable.  
  
  
  
"Thank god hockey is indoors," Vaughn sighed, watching the rain pour furiously outside the French doors of her living room. Despite the rain, she had opened one of the doors, the fresh air ventilating the house.   
  
  
  
Sydney looked up from her spot on the double glider. For nearly an hour, she'd sat there, curled up with her socked feet comfortably tucked under her denim-covered legs. At first, she'd been busy correcting papers and working on her upcoming classes. By then, however, she was comfortably reading a book for pleasure. When her eyes rose from her book, she didn't even try to hide the smile at what she uncovered. Vaughn lay stretched comfortably on the longer sofa, one elbow tucked under a throw pillow that he used to prop up his head, while he anxiously waited for the Kings' first afternoon game of the season.  
  
  
  
"You would sit out in the rain and not even think twice," she challenged.  
  
  
  
"Probably," he conceded with a half smile. "When I was a kid I used to play in the snow."  
  
  
  
"That doesn't surprise me," she murmured, looking back at her book.  
  
  
  
"Blizzards Syd. Hail."  
  
  
  
Glancing quickly over the top of her book she inquired, "Were you trying to worry your mother?"  
  
  
  
"I was too busy playing to worry about that," he corrected. "I would go inside, sometimes."  
  
  
  
"And then you'd play pool and hustle the unassuming locals," she softly recalled from behind the pages of her book.  
  
  
  
"I never said anything about hustling," Vaughn playfully protested.  
  
  
  
As she rolled her eyes Sydney explained, "Hustling was implied."  
  
  
  
"Well, a college kid's got to make a living," he pointed out.   
  
  
  
After she quickly marked her page, Sydney looked up at him and teased, "There are easier ways of making a living."  
  
  
  
"I had fun," he finished, looking back at the television. "Can you see okay from there Syd?" he asked, watching the opening of the game. From her angle Vaughn couldn't help but wonder if the light bounced too brightly off of the television, making the screen difficult to see.  
  
  
  
"I'm fine," she promised.   
  
  
  
"Is it always like this here?" he murmured. Although his eyes never left the television screen, Vaughn sensed her questioning look. "Always this..." He hesitated. The last thing he wanted to say was easy; he knew that no life was easy. Instead, he quickly added a more appropriate word. "Quiet."  
  
  
  
"You're a long, long way from Los Angeles, Agent Vaughn," Sydney teased as his lips moved into a half smile. Sincerely she pressed on, "I know it's not as fast-paced or exciting as LA, but -"  
  
  
  
"I like it," he stopped, removing his eyes from the television, looking at her just long enough to drive home his point.   
  
  
  
"The game's starting," she pointed out with a smile, as his eyes finally returned to the TV.  
  
  
  
The game ended nearly an hour after the sun set, as Jeopardy! came on and just as the evening news came to a close. Outside the rain continued to pour, the wind rattling through the screen doors of the house. Tucked safely inside Sydney Bristow's home, the two sat down in the kitchen to a simple dinner of soup and sandwiches. Neither had been especially hungry as dinnertime rolled around, and she had suggested one of Claire's favorite combinations.  
  
  
  
"You're leaving tomorrow?" Sydney posed the question as the meal began, studying her plate instead of his eyes.  
  
  
  
"Yeah," he sighed. "Back to work Monday morning," he explained as she nodded. "I'll probably leave in the morning."  
  
  
  
"Will you -"  
  
  
  
"I'm not going to leave without saying goodbye Syd," he promised her.   
  
  
  
"You'll have to come back again. We can go to Seascape."  
  
  
  
"I will," he met her eyes and vowed. "I think Zelda likes me," Vaughn noted as the black cat leapt directly into his lap, and comfortably settled there.  
  
  
  
"She's a big flirt," Sydney grinned. "You should probably leave early tomorrow too," she sadly realized. "The roads will be messy."  
  
  
  
"I'll be careful," he insisted. "You must be excited," he commented as her face twisted in confusion. "Claire coming home; having Peter over for Thanksgiving. I know how important it used to be to you," Vaughn explained. All he could do was wonder why he was doing this to himself. Just like he still wondered why he asked about Noah all those years ago; asking how the mission with him had gone as the knowledge that she'd slept with him sunk deep into his gut. The only consolation he now had was his near certainty that she had yet to sleep with Peter.  
  
  
  
"I'm excited about Claire coming home," she smiled. "Peter will probably drop by," she softly confirmed. "Everyone drops in and out though," her voice returned to its normal tone as she explained. "Everyone drops in here on Thanksgiving. My friends from work, Georgia and the kids... Everyone." She shrugged. "I usually make enough to feed the entire town for a week."  
  
  
  
Vaughn smiled, his mind conjuring up the image of Sydney and Claire Bristow working in sync in the kitchen, preparing a master Thanksgiving feast. The bitter taste of envy reappeared in his mouth as he considered that it would be not him, but Peter, in his seat come Thursday; that the shorter high school teacher would be the one partaking in the day. The taste turned metallic as his mind added in that Peter had met Claire Bristow, knew of the type of day-to-day life that Sydney had created for herself, while he was still an outsider. When he thought of it that way, he was left to wonder why he hadn't violently greeted the man the other day.   
  
  
  
"Peter's mother died in April," Sydney added. "He lived with her. He'd been taking care of her... So he doesn't really have anywhere else to go." Across from her, she was only faintly relieved to see him nod. Why his approval carried such weight, was a question she didn't have the emotional energy to answer. Not yet at least.  
  
  
  
"That's nice of you Syd." His voice still cracked, despite the sincerity that his statement carried.   
  
  
  
"We've been friends for a few years," she struggled to explain. "Claire adores him... He's a really nice guy. I think he really liked you too."  
  
  
  
Vaughn choked on a bitter smile at her words. "C'mon." He put his wrinkled paper napkin on the table and slowly stood.  
  
  
  
"Where are you going?" she asked, instantly concerned that she had pushed him away.   
  
  
  
With a quick check out the window, he was glad to see the skies had died down, although the newspapers predicted showers again later that night. "Let's go for a ride." He walked over to her, expectantly holding his hand out.  
  
  
  
"What? Vaughn -"  
  
  
  
"It stopped raining and the top of my car goes down. When was the last time you were in a convertible?" he challenged. "Let's go." He took her hand, gently tugging Sydney to her feet. Grabbing their keys off the counter in one swoop of his hand, he led her out the door.  
  
  
  
"Where are we going?" she inquired as he opened the passenger's door of his car for her.  
  
  
  
"I'm going to look around the area," he explained, her confusion only growing as he got in on his side. "Trust me, Syd," he pointed out as he twisted the keys in the ignition. Granting him a deliciously large smile, she shook her head and settled back against the seat as he began to drive.  
  
  
  
The stars slowly twinkled overhead as he drove for nearly two hours. At first she was an alert co-pilot, directing him by places and things in Trinidad and the surrounding towns that meant the most to her. Sydney even managed to direct him by the building she taught the majority of her glasses in. Eventually, the music and the warm wind blowing around her lulled her into a comfortable sleep. In the driver's seat, turning down Springsteen just a bit so she wouldn't awake, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. With her head rolled onto her shoulder, her eyes closed, and her lips opened just slightly, Vaughn gently reached for her hand.   
  
  
  
Holding her slightly smaller hand in his, he drove back to the house, wondering how he would manage to tell her that after twenty years of searching, he'd finally discovered where he belonged. 


	6. Chapter 5

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
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The sound of a seemingly ancient Vertical Horizon song was familiar to Sydney's ears as she heard her daughter, loud music included, come to a stop in the driveway Wednesday morning. Even the generally laid back Gehrig's ears were peaked by the once daily sound. Slowly, the dog stretched to his feet, approaching the back screen door. From her comfortable seat at the kitchen table, Sydney was able to watch her daughter as she hopped out of the car, muttering under her breath as she rolled up the convertible top on her Jeep. The young woman then grabbed her duffel, her mother noting how long and curly her hair had grown in a few short months, and disappeared into the backyard.  
  
  
  
"Hey, looking for a temporary roomie?" Claire teased, her grin wide as she stood on the other side of the screen door. Enthusiastically, Gehrig began to howl, pouncing on his youngest mistress with kisses when she slipped into the house.  
  
  
  
"Hey sweetheart!" Sydney smiled, standing and hugging her daughter. "I missed you," she confessed, still tightly embracing her.   
  
  
  
"It's only been three months, Mom," she pointed out. As the two pulled out of their hug, Claire studied her shoes and pulled hair behind her ear in a familiar gesture as she mumbled, "I missed you too."  
  
  
  
With a quick evaluation of the clock, she looked back at her daughter in surprise. "You're early."  
  
  
  
"I left at three in the morning," she confessed. It was the only way she could have arrived in Trinidad at ten o'clock, after what was usually a seven hour drive.  
  
  
  
"No wonder you look exhausted," Sydney sighed, putting the bagels back in the drawer.  
  
  
  
"What are you doing? I'm hungry."  
  
  
  
"You'll eat later. Go take a nap. Your room is just like you left it."  
  
  
  
"Great, that means it's a mess," she mumbled, slowly standing.  
  
  
  
Unzipping her daughter's duffel and encountering a massive amount of laundry, she inquired, "I assume this is for me?"  
  
  
  
"I thought you might have missed doing my laundry," Claire shrugged.  
  
  
  
The older woman rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid to ask what you've done for the last three months," she sighed. "Go lie down. When you wake up I'll make lunch. I'm going to go put this in the washer," she explained, grabbing the duffel and disappearing down the stairs.  
  
  
  
When Sydney reappeared in her kitchen, there was no sign of Claire, and Gehrig had curled back up on his blanket. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she settled down into the family room to catch up on her reading. After amusing herself for nearly three chapters of the book, she crept quietly up the stairs, relieved that the staircase refrained from creaking. Climbing to the top floor, she turned right towards her daughter's room. As was customary, her bedroom door was closed. Mindful of her sleeping daughter, she slowly turned the knob and stepped into the room.  
  
  
  
The room was exactly as Claire had left it months before, although on occasion, she found herself entering to check on things. On the bed, her daughter was draped unceremoniously on her belly, her soft snores echoing through the room. Snowy, her oldest stuffed animal, had been rescued from her duffel on the way up and was tucked safely under her arm. Sighing, she leaned against the wall, taking in the surroundings that she had once seen every day.   
  
  
  
Photos of friends and family were everywhere, and a photo of Sydney and Claire from the previous year's Christmas card was framed on her nightstand table. Everything in her daughter's room was neatly kept in wooden frames she had purchased from a dollar store and later decorated on her own. All of her various interests were visible, from the massive poster of former University of Connecticut standout basketball player Sam Emmers, now a player with the Sacramento Monarchs, to the framed front page of the local sports section from the day her high school softball team won their division world series. Along the way there were statues of variously dressed teddy bears, stacks and stacks of CD's, shelves of older movies, and the stuffed animals that remained on her bed, all of which had been in her possession since she was an infant.  
  
  
  
Knowing Claire was sleeping and safe, Sydney resisted the urge to kiss her daughter, aware that she was a light sleeper. With one more glance over her shoulder, she left the room, silently closing the door behind her. In her mind, she decided to let her daughter sleep a few more hours, accepting the consequence of her sleep schedule being briefly off for a day or so, as she descended the staircase.   
  
  
  
Shortly before one in the afternoon, Claire came upon her mother in the kitchen. Sydney had been sitting quietly, drinking iced tea and working on a crossword puzzle. At her daughter's reappearance, she quickly got to work, making the duo lunch. As she went about the preparations, she worked to catch up on all she'd missed in her daughter's life. Claire had the expected difficulties; adjusting to a new person as a roommate, to sharing a bathroom with a floor of practical strangers, and the dangers of meal plan food. Even so, it was obvious she was enjoying herself. Claire had inherited the bravado and fearless nature that her mother hadn't acquired until she was older. Plus, she made several off handed mentions of a young man on the school's basketball team, something her mother made a note to bring up later.  
  
  
  
They ate lunch on the deck. Sydney worked to familiarize herself with her daughter's new friends and new life. As much as her daughter had changed, she had changed as well. Being alone could do that to a woman, and although the change was by no means as drastic as Claire's, both knew it was there. Acknowledging that her daughter was surviving, and even thriving, on her own was a bittersweet occasion. The pleasure of knowing that she'd brought Claire into the world and helped make her into a well-rounded, courageous, happy young woman with a good on her shoulders, made her smile. In her mind she could still recall a wobbly toddler's first steps, or the fear in her cocoa eyes on the first day of kindergarten. Now she was out in the world, tackling it on her own, without Sydney's protection or daily guidance. As a mother, her job was now to sit back and hope for the best, offering advice and guidance when called upon.   
  
  
  
Together they folded Claire's clothes, unpacking her belongings, debating what she should take back for the remainder of the semester. Half focused on an afternoon basketball game, the two lay in the living room and discussed their Christmas options. To her surprise, Sydney discovered that her daughter continued not only to speak to her an average of three times a week, but continued to call her grandparents at least once a week as well. Claire was excited at the prospect of going to Puget Sound in the upcoming weeks, eager to show her grandmother what she could make from the recipe for a traditional Russian dessert that Irina had taught her the previous holiday season.  
  
  
  
Late into the afternoon they began preparations in the kitchen for the next day's massive meal. The china that they used only a few times a year had to be removed and hand-washed from the breakfront. Claire tossed together the first batch of muffins and convinced her mother to allow her to make the cranberry sauce on her own that year. Somewhere along the way Sydney flicked on the radio, the two singing in off-key voices to the music, sharing easy conversation as they went.  
  
  
  
Neither was exceptionally hungry as dinnertime rolled around. With the next day's enormous meal looming ahead of them, the older woman had expected nothing less. Instead, she pulled out two plates, a loaf of bread and the cold cuts as the two prepared their own sandwiches. Silence cocooned them as they ate. As she finished her sandwich, Claire was surprised to look up and see the distant look in her mother's eyes. Although her sandwich was gone, it was obvious Sydney's focus was not on her meal. Instead, she took another sip of her iced tea, setting it down on the tabletop before she realized her daughter was looking at her.   
  
  
  
"Sorry," she smiled.  
  
  
  
"What's wrong?  
  
  
  
Sydney sighed, fighting the remainder of her internal battle as she pushed her hair behind her ear. Finally, she met her daughter's curious eyes. "Do you remember how I used tell you, when you'd ask, that I couldn't tell you some things because I used to work for the government?"  
  
  
  
Confused at the sudden direction of the question, Claire's eyes narrowed as her voice cracked. "Yeah. Why?"  
  
  
  
"I think there's something I want to show you," she decided. Slowly the woman stood, her daughter following her actions in slight bewilderment. Obediently, she trailed her mother through the kitchen and family room and turned up the staircase. Arriving at the top, Claire noticed the sky growing progressively darker through the bathroom skylight as they passed.   
  
  
  
Sydney had led her directly to her bedroom, a place Claire was familiar with. As a little girl, the two would sit on her bed and watch movies on her television at night, and when she was extremely young, she'd sometimes crawl into bed with her mother after a nightmare or if she grew lonely. On that occasion she sat down next to her mother on Sydney's traditional side of the bed, watching her mother lean over and open her nightstand drawer. Without hesitation, she reached inside and from the top of the pile of her most personal belongings, she pulled a photograph. Then she handed it to her daughter.  
  
  
  
Claire's sharp eye quickly detected the aged nature of the photograph. The picture was of four people. At first she recognized a far younger version of her mother, smiling beside a far younger version of her Uncle Will. On the other side of her mother was a tall, blonde man with his arm wrapped snuggly around her mother. Then to the left of her Uncle Will, was an attractive African American woman who was cuddled up next to her uncle's side. All four were smiling.  
  
  
  
"That's you and Uncle Will," Claire grinned, pointing to the appropriate figures.  
  
  
  
"Yeah," she softly agreed, "it is."   
  
  
  
To her confusion, she glanced over to see that her mother's eyes had glossed over with unshed tears. "Who are the other two people?"  
  
  
  
"That..." Sydney carefully took her finger and pointed it to the black woman, "that's your Aunt Francie."  
  
  
  
"My namesake," Claire exhaled, finally seeing the woman who had inspired her mother's choice of a middle name. For years she had heard stories about her mother's best friend and former roommate; the woman who had shared her mother's college and younger years. Sometimes, she'd wondered why there were photos of that woman out, but Sydney had explained when she was much younger that Francie had been murdered by bad people a long, long time ago. Even at a young age Claire had known better than to bring up anything that could upset her mother. "Who's he?"   
  
  
  
"That's Michael Vaughn," she sighed. "I was in love with him," she explained. Claire's eyes grew as she looked at her mother in awe, waiting for the story to unravel. "Because of my job, I couldn't be with him for a long time. Then we were able to be together. We were so happy. . " she recalled. "Vaughn and I were together when I disappeared."  
  
  
  
The pieces slowly began to fall into place as her daughter added, "When you lost two years."  
  
  
  
"Right," Sydney sighed. Explaining that part of her life had always been difficult, but Claire was a patient listener; a fantastic sounding board. Best yet, she kept secrets to herself and knew when not to push a subject, an art form that her own mother hadn't always mastered. "When I returned... Everyone had thought I was dead. Your grandparents, your uncles... Everyone," she explained, unable to look at her daughter. "Vaughn was married."  
  
  
  
"Mom," her voice cracked, her heart breaking for her mother.   
  
  
  
"That was twenty years ago Claire." She looked back up at her daughter, the dim light glittering off of her unshed tears. "When I moved to Trinidad, we stopped talking. We really didn't have much to say to one another once I returned. . ."  
  
  
  
"Why are you showing me this now?"  
  
  
  
"Vaughn showed up here a few weeks ago. He was just sitting on the back stoop one day when I came back from walking Gehrig," she explained, her eyes drawn back to the photo her daughter still studied. "He needed to talk. . . He's divorced now, things didn't go the way he planned. . . Things didn't go the way either one of us planned," she sighed. Claire's eyes were slightly hazed with confusion as Sydney clarified. "Sweetheart. . .you know I could never regret you. . . That I can't imagine my life without you. . . But there was a time when I couldn't imagine my life without him."  
  
  
  
"And you didn't even want to try," Claire calmly added. Glancing back at the photos, she confidently added, "I should have been his."  
  
  
  
"Claire -"  
  
  
  
"I know Mom, I'm not trying to give you the guilt trip - my father is, who my father is. He's gone now, I can't change that and really wouldn't want to," Claire promised. "It's the truth. In a perfect world, this man would have fathered your children."  
  
  
  
"But the world isn't perfect."  
  
  
  
"What about Peter?"  
  
  
  
"What about Peter? Nothing is going on with Vaughn, but he is back in my life. . . I don't ever want to keep secrets from you that I don't have to."  
  
  
  
"Mom. . . You loved him," she shrugged away a sigh, studying the aged photo. "How can you not want to try to get that back?"  
  
  
  
"I've had twenty years to think about it Claire, but I won't hurt Peter. Vaughn just needs a friend right now. He's going through a pretty tough time."  
  
  
  
"And of all the people in the world, he chooses you, out of the blue?" her daughter returned skeptically. "I'm assuming he lives in Los Angeles, which means the drive was like fourteen hours, which totally invalidates any possibility of it being a spontaneous gesture."  
  
  
  
"I don't think it was spontaneous. He's not a spontaneous person," she softly recalled. "I think he just needed someone who understands."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, because there are only a few million people in Los Angeles and the surrounding area who could have listened," Claire mumbled. "Are you going to see him again?"  
  
  
  
"I sort of already have," she muttered, glancing down at her lap as she tucked hair behind her ear. As her daughter's confusion hung unspoken in the air, she explained. "Last weekend. He came up. Spent Friday and Saturday here."  
  
  
  
"I'm not going to ask about sleeping arrangements," her daughter commented.  
  
  
  
"Claire!" Sydney's eyes widened and skin burned. "Vaughn slept on the sofa. I slept in my bedroom. Nothing happened. We talked, we caught up on things. It's been twenty years. During a very difficult time in my life, he was the most important person in it."  
  
  
  
Rolling her large eyes, the younger woman dropped onto her back, staring at the popcorn ceiling for a moment. "So what's the deal with calling him Vaughn? The guy's name is Michael."  
  
  
  
A small smile grew as her mother lay down as well, turning her head to face Claire. "I don't know. He's always called me Sydney. .When we first worked together, I didn't like him. Danny had just died, and I thought he was too young and cocky to be my boss."  
  
  
  
"He was your boss?" Her daughter's eyes grew, the tiny tidbit pushing on her hunger for the unfolding saga.  
  
  
  
"Sort of," Sydney sighed. "I wish I could tell you everything Claire -"  
  
  
  
"You can't, just like I can't know a lot about Grandpa and Grandma or tell my friends that Grandma's even *alive*." Her wide eyes emphasized her slight exasperation. "I know Mom."  
  
  
  
"When we became... involved, he asked me why I didn't call him Michael. I just could never call him that, not comfortably," she shrugged. "He'll always be Vaughn to me."  
  
  
  
"Sounds very X-Files to me. Or maybe ER with the name thing. They always called poor Dr. Carter by his last name, never John. Did you ever notice that?" Claire inquired, her face lacking anything but curiosity as her mother laughed.  
  
  
  
"You watch too much TV Land."  
  
  
  
"Nah," her daughter insisted. "No way. TV Land has Dick Van Dyke, Mom! Name *one* show better in television history than the Dick Van Dyke Show!"  
  
  
  
Laughing, Sydney rolled her eyes as she teased, "I guess I can't."  
  
  
  
"Well..." She rolled onto her belly and sighed. She then continued to study the photo her mother had pulled from her most private of bedroom drawers. "He was cute in his day," Claire approved.  
  
  
  
"Not that it matters," her mother slowly corrected, repositioning herself so she sat up on her bed, "but Vaughn is still cute."  
  
  
  
Claire shook her head and chuckled. "It's so weird that you called your *boyfriend* by his last name."  
  
  
  
"I always called him that," her voice cracked as it dipped far lower than her normal range. "I can't imagine calling him anything else."  
  
  
  
"So, when is he coming back? Or do you have some secret rendezvous planned to see him when we're in Los Angeles?"  
  
  
  
"None of my plans are that long term."  
  
  
  
"Well you can't not call him. I mean, at least call him tomorrow, it's Thanksgiving."  
  
  
  
"When will I have time?" she skeptically asked. "You know how crazy tomorrow always is."  
  
  
  
"It's just a thought," Claire shrugged. "You could have invited him for dinner, if you really wanted."  
  
  
  
"No." Her mother vigorously shook her head. "Thanksgiving is our day. Anyway, we'll have people dropping in and out all day, it wouldn't have been a good time."  
  
  
  
"I still like Peter," the teenager sighed, slowly stretching and lifting herself off of her mother's bed.  
  
  
  
"I care very much about Peter!" Sydney insisted. "We're not serious, and Vaughn and I are just friends."  
  
  
  
"You're such a bad liar Mommy," Claire spoke affectionately, a smile on her face as her head shook. "You want to be friends with this guy about as much as I want to be friends with Bryce O'Neal."  
  
  
  
"Oh..." Her mother grew intrigued, leaning closer to her daughter. "The one on the basketball team?"  
  
  
  
"We are not having this conversation now," she decided, punctuating her point with a yawn. "I'm sorry Mom, I'm still tired -"  
  
  
  
"It's okay Tinkerbelle, we can talk in the morning," she agreed. A tired smile slowly spread across Claire's face as she hugged her mother and kissed her cheek.  
  
  
  
"I'm going to bed."  
  
  
  
"Sweet dreams, sweetheart."  
  
  
  
"Love you Mom," Claire called, hearing her mother echo the same sentiment before both retired to their appropriate rooms.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
For all of her nearly eighteen years, Thanksgiving had been a day where you woke early and went to bed equally early. That holiday was no exception, as Sydney padded into her daughter's room to wake her shortly after seven. From the French doors the sun slowly rose in, the warm shades of orange and yellow danced a warm glow over the room. No amount of persuasion ever convinced her mother to relax on Thanksgiving morning. Instead, they were quickly to work, slicing and dicing and preparing all the necessary trimmings, including a stuffing made from scratch.  
  
  
  
Since childhood, the warm smell of Bells Seasoning would remind Claire of Thanksgiving. By mid-morning, the smell was spread not only in the kitchen, but throughout the house. Going through the motions with the grace gained from years of experience, Sydney seemed to move effortlessly through the kitchen. A scene that would be seen as chaos to many, was simple management for Claire's mother, and between the two of them, they had everything settled in time for the broadcast of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.  
  
  
  
Before noon the guests started to arrive. With Georgia helping her mother in the kitchen, Claire disappeared into the backyard with Georgia's two sons, the boys she had grown up with, to toss around a football. As she washed vegetables and went about the business of preparing dinner, Sydney watched through the window, unable to stop herself from worrying. Still, she took the opportunity to catch up with her friend, doing her best to try to convince Georgia that Michael Vaughn was nothing more than an old friend.  
  
  
  
Nearly two hours before they usually ate dinner, the Bristow kitchen table was spread out with all the food needed for an appropriate Thanksgiving feast. Peter had arrived nearly an hour earlier, sitting briefly in the kitchen before plopping down in the family room with Georgia's sons to watch the remainder of the day's football games. In the beginning of the meal, the group quietly passed around platters and plates, muttering pleasantries as the food was piled. Soon everyone was settled in, the food slowly disappearing as the conversation resumed.  
  
  
  
Peter was eager to hear how his former students were doing in the world. One of Georgia's sons had just returned to graduate school at nearly thirty, while her youngest was set to graduate college in the spring. Everyone was curious to hear how life was at Stanford, how Claire was fending in the real world, along with how well she was coping with the Cardinals off-season regimen. In between actual conversation, were compliments on the food, people going back for seconds, and scratching together initial plans for the Christmas holiday.  
  
  
  
As Sydney had predicted, various co-workers and friends of Claire continued to drop in until it was nearly dark out. The more the merrier had always been her motto, especially since more people generally meant fewer leftovers. As was customary, Claire put herself in charge of the clean up effort, loading the dishwasher and washing the most fragile of items. Later in the evening, she even went about the vigorous task of putting everything away in the fridge while her mother enjoyed conversation and pie with a friend and Peter on the deck.  
  
  
  
"Mom?" Claire stuck her head into the family room just after seven. Confused, she had discovered her mother standing in the center of the room, seemingly fixated on the sleeping telephone. At her daughter's voice, Sydney's head popped up to meet Claire's. "I'm going to go play some air hockey with Jake and Harry, is that okay?"  
  
  
  
"That's fine," she smiled. "Harry told me he's going to beat you."  
  
  
  
"That's what he thinks," Claire smirked.   
  
  
  
"Hey, I want to talk about Bryce later!" Sydney called to her daughter's retreating figure, a grin on her daughter's face as she disappeared out the front door. Briefly alone, she let out a heavy sigh and set her mind. Determined with her choice, she reached for the telephone.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Seven hundred miles south of Trinidad, Michael Vaughn walked back into his small apartment just after five in the afternoon. Outside the sun was dipping progressively lower over the ocean. Thanksgiving at the Weiss' had not disappointed. The kids were getting progressively bigger, their eldest even talking about college options, although he was only a freshman in high school. They watched football and complimented Megan on her cooking, talking about hockey and the weather during the meal. Although Megan always turned him down, he still offered to stay and help clean up before he excused himself, agreeing to talk to Eric sometime during the weekend.  
  
  
  
Silence was the only thing to greet him as he sank into his favorite lounger. Now aged, once upon a time it had been where Alex would sit and eagerly wait for him, her little body all but eaten up by the soft blue fabric. Once in a while, she'd even crawl into his lap and he'd read to her or she'd watch a hockey game with him, cherishing the time she'd had with her Daddy. When she was a little girl, the hours after Thanksgiving dinner were always when she'd climb onto his lap, falling asleep in his arms as he watched Sports Center.   
  
  
  
Thoughts of a previous life were ended as the phone rang. Logic did nothing to dispel the hope that resided in his heart. Staring at the phone as another ring shook it, he snapped out of his haze and grabbed the object. "Hello?"  
  
  
  
"Hi."  
  
  
  
The sigh revealed the disappointment he struggled to hide as he relaxed against his chair. "Hey Kate. How are you?"  
  
  
  
"I'm fine," she easily replied. "Are you okay? You sounded a bit upset when you picked up."  
  
  
  
"No, it's nothing, I'm fine," Vaughn insisted. "Are you fine? Is everything okay -"  
  
  
  
"I'm fine," she cut him off. "I'm fine. How are Megan and Eric?"  
  
  
  
"Good. Good. Megan cooked too much."  
  
  
  
A few hundred miles away, Kate's laughter reached his ears. "She always does. How are the kids?"  
  
  
  
"Fine," he smiled easily. "Josh is already talking about college."  
  
  
  
"Oh, he can't be old enough!"  
  
  
  
"Freshman in high school," Michael reminded his former wife. "He's getting tall, he's even on the JV basketball team."  
  
  
  
"Well, that's good for him," she agreed. "Alex called?"  
  
  
  
"Yes, this morning," he assured her. "It was a pleasant surprise."  
  
  
  
"I didn't even have to remind her," Kate pleasantly commented. "You got the present?"  
  
  
  
"Arrived on my doorstep last night. Thank you."  
  
  
  
"I'm not that cruel Michael, I wouldn't allow Alex to overlook your birthday."  
  
  
  
"Thanks Kate," he repeated. "How was your Thanksgiving?"  
  
  
  
"Actually," she stalled as he sensed the anxiety in her voice. "Matt and I got married this afternoon. Nothing big, of course. Just Alex, the justice of the peace and a few of our friends."  
  
  
  
"Congratulations."  
  
  
  
"I would have told you, but it wasn't something we especially planned. . . We were living together, and he hates the whole idea of promoting living in sin to Alex . . "  
  
  
  
"No, no, that's wonderful. That's great Kate, I hope you two are very happy."  
  
  
  
"I think we will be," she softly agreed. "Now, are you sure you're okay?"  
  
  
  
"I'm fine," he vowed. "Please wish Matt my best. Tell Alex I'll call her tomorrow."  
  
  
  
"I will. She's out with friends right now."  
  
  
  
"Okay. Take care of yourself Kate, and please let me know if you need anything."  
  
  
  
"I will," Kate assured him. "Happy birthday Michael."  
  
  
  
"Congratulations Kate," he repeated as they hung up the phone. As the phone hit the hook, he glanced around his apartment. His large chair and cozy apartment suddenly felt suffocating. Outside his window, the metro Los Angeles area held an endless appeal. Slowly, his fingers began to burn with the urge to call someone, but there were no options. He'd been gone from Eric's for barely an hour, and certainly Sydney wouldn't appreciate his call on a day that was clearly devoted to a part of her life that he held no space in. The last part of that thought snapped him, rocketing him to his feet as he grabbed his keys and left the apartment.  
  
  
  
The idea of making another impromptu drive briefly rested on his mind before he quickly discarded it. The news of Kate's remarriage was not a heavy burden. Ironically, he'd managed to remain on better terms with his ex-wife than he was with his daughter on most days. Instead, Vaughn remained in his solitude, burying the racing thoughts and quickly passing life milestones in the back of his mind as Springsteen briefly erased his troubles. With the convertible top down, a slight chill in the California air, he used side roads to avoid the holiday traffic. Since his purchase of the car nearly a year ago, he'd found himself escaping in it more and more, enjoying the freedom it offered and the quick escape from the remainder of the world. In the convertible he was just a man, a radio and the open road. Or at least whatever semi-free streets he could find to cruise in his neighborhood.  
  
  
  
Two hours disappeared during his drive. Vaughn's only indication of the time was how the sky had darkened, not with the threat of showers, but the imminent fall of night. Putting the car to sleep in his reserved parking space, he sat patiently as the top came up and he locked it into place. The promise of another night alone, a birthday night celebrated with just a repeat of a days old Kings game, did nothing to rush his journey up the stairs. One foot inside his warm apartment, he was already shrugging off his jacket as the light on his answering machine caught his eye. Absently, Vaughn reached over to press the button as he approached his bedroom to change for the evening.  
  
  
  
An electronic voice filled the apartment. "You have one new message. Message one:  
  
  
  
"Vaughn," a soft, hesitant voice immediately caught him off guard. Already halfway to his bedroom, he stopped to turn and face the machine, imagining her there in his mind. "It's me," she continued, her voice slightly more confident, but no louder as she continued. "I guess you're out... I just wanted to call and wish you a happy Thanksgiving. And a happy birthday. I'll talk to you soon," she added hopefully. A moment later her voice could barely be heard on the grainy tape as she spoke, "Bye." 


	7. Chapter 6

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
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The only sound echoing off of the surrounding Plexiglas was the soft hum of his skates over the ice. Scrutinizing the puck, black in contrast to the white sheet beneath him, he moved it back and forth across the ice. At his age he was used to playing only himself, and had perfected at least half a dozen one-person games to absorb his time. After all, very few people were on the ice that early, and most of the people who were there were far from interested in playing or even practicing with a man his age.  
  
  
  
"Hey," a familiar voice bounced off of the walls. Michael Vaughn glanced up and rolled his eyes at his companion. "Don't you ever sleep in anymore?"  
  
  
  
"Shouldn't you be in some warm bed?"  
  
  
  
"Are you kidding me?" Eric Weiss' eyes grew. "It's sales day buddy, Meg had me up and out the door at quarter to seven."  
  
  
  
Sighing, Vaughn slowly skated to where Eric stood. Reaching his friend's side, he glared down at the ice and muttered, "I'm starting to think Alex hates me."  
  
  
  
"So? My son thinks I'm a jackass," he pointed out. When Vaughn glared at him, the other man shrugged. "So I have my moments. My point is, they're teenagers. They're practically genetically programmed to detest their parents, especially their fathers."  
  
  
  
"I know I wasn't the best father..." He groaned and then looked at his friend. "When she was little though... Even when I wasn't around, when I was, I couldn't do anything wrong."  
  
  
  
"You know you're annoying when you overanalyze?" Eric informed him. "I knew I shouldn't have let you leave so early last night..." he commented under his breath. "You know, you should have just saved all of us the trouble."  
  
  
  
"How could I have done that?"  
  
  
  
"Shown up on Sydney's doorstep yesterday morning. You know she would let you stay."  
  
  
  
"Jesus Eric, not this again," Vaughn sputtered, turning around and slowly gliding back to the center of the rink.  
  
  
  
"What? I'm not out of my mind here, Michael," Eric called, unmoving at the entrance of the ice. "Did you even tell her your plan? I mean, did you just casually mention it during the two days you were there?"  
  
  
  
From the center of the ice, Weiss barely saw his friend shake his head, but even his whisper resounded in his ears. "No."  
  
  
  
"Well, I don't think she'll mind, but it might be nice if she knew."  
  
  
  
"This isn't easy for me." The lone figure on the ice whirled around to face him. "I don't even know what the hell I'm doing."  
  
  
  
"No one's expecting this to be easy, but you're going to just get more miserable if you don't. This stopped being easy when you two imposed this stupid vow of barely speaking to one another."  
  
  
  
"Hey!" Vaughn glared at his old friend. "I *tried*, but all she did was push me away -"  
  
  
  
"Give me a break." He rolled his eyes. "You could have tried a lot harder, but you didn't. Neither one of you did, and now you both regret it."  
  
  
  
"I loved Kate, I was married to her at the time."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, so? Since when was Sydney ever receptive to the idea of a friendship, when she was upset or angry? If I remember clearly, you sure as hell pushed your way into her life the first time around, and you were taken then too buddy."  
  
  
  
"That was different, I wasn't married to Alice."  
  
  
  
"The point is that you didn't give up on her," Eric softly explained. "You didn't give up on Sydney, not even when she had... When she came back, nothing was easy for her, but after one half of a rejection, you just dropped her like a hot potato. What the hell were you so scared of?"  
  
  
  
"When you bury the woman you love, she's not supposed to show up once you move on and get married," Vaughn muttered. Finally, he stopped skating around in a seemingly endless circle and looked at Eric. "Kate got married yesterday."  
  
  
  
"Congratulations to her, but we're talking about Sydney. I've known you too damn long to let you change the subject like that."  
  
  
  
"I was scared of her. Do you have any idea how easy it would have been to let Sydney in? Every time I *looked* at her I had to remember that I was married then and that I *loved* my wife. I couldn't even look myself in the mirror at night. Do you have any idea how shitty it is, being forced to remind yourself that you're supposedly in love with someone?"  
  
  
  
"No," Weiss sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't."  
  
  
  
"I was scared of knowing that after two damn years, after moving past her and thinking I had it all together, she could take that all away. Jesus, there were times when I *wanted* her to take it all away. I had a *wife*, I had spent months trying to get past her..." He shook his head as his eyes dipped to his well-worn ice skates. "And after nearly two years, Sydney was still the only woman I really wanted," Vaughn mumbled and looked back at his friend. "That scared me to death."  
  
  
  
"Well... On the bright side, Grace finally learned how to do around the world," he injected. Laughing, the image of a tiny six year old struggling with a yoyo came to mind. "Seriously," Weiss continued, "that was twenty years ago. Neither one of you can change that, but you can't keep living with what happened or what you should have done. In the end, you both fucked it up. Admittedly, you had good cause to fuck it up, but it happened. You're no longer married; Sydney's no longer trying to rebuild her life. What's the problem?"  
  
  
  
His eyes were sober as he glanced up at his former partner. "Syd's got a boyfriend."  
  
  
  
"There's no way he smells as good as you do."  
  
  
  
Vaughn's lips quirked as both men laughed at the memory. "I don't know. I met him, briefly, but I didn't give him a full inspection."  
  
  
  
"I'm assuming that if it was serious, you would have thought about this plan of yours more than once."  
  
  
  
"I have thought about my plan more than once," he vowed. "And... Sydney says it's not serious."  
  
  
  
"But you're not convinced?"  
  
  
  
"Sydney's not the type to have a casual relationship."  
  
  
  
Weiss stood up straight and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe she was lonely. Of all the people in the world, you have got to be able to understand what loneliness does to a person."  
  
  
  
"What if Claire hates me?"  
  
  
  
"I've yet to meet a Bristow immune to your charms," Weiss jabbed. "C'mon, you even got Jack Bristow to like you; to *trust* you. I don't think anyone had done that in thirty years. Anyway, I think you're about three steps ahead of yourself."  
  
  
  
Vaughn shook his head. "What if I'm making the biggest mistake of my life?"  
  
  
  
"Than you come back here and you can stay in our garage apartment until you get your life together. And, you'll be able to say you did the best you could, that you weren't a total idiot who gave up every chance he ever had with Sydney Bristow."  
  
  
  
"You're right." He shook his head, a half-grin on his face as Weiss studied him. "I'm about a month ahead of myself."  
  
  
  
"I think over-planning is the lingering curse of every CIA handler."  
  
  
  
"Than how did you avoid it?"  
  
  
  
"Just ask Marshall, I've got magic." Eric shrugged as both men laughed. Soberly he inquired, "Do you think you're doing the right thing?"  
  
  
  
"I don't know," Vaughn muttered, absently moving the puck with his hockey stick. "I haven't been right about Sydney in years."  
  
  
  
"So, your instincts been off a few times. What is it telling you *now*?"  
  
  
  
Green eyes finally looked up, wide and filled with more hope than any average man his age dared to have. "This is my best and last shot."  
  
  
  
"When are you going to see her again?" Eric pried, his friend walking by him and sitting down on a bench, beginning to take off his skates.  
  
  
  
"I don't know yet. I know Claire's home from Stanford, and I know Syd's missed her... I don't want to invade on their time together," he explained, tossing a look in his friend's direction.  
  
  
  
"Meg was very disappointed that you didn't say a word about Sydney at dinner. You know she never got to meet her."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "A lot of people never got to meet her."  
  
  
  
Collapsing onto the bench next to him, Eric let out a heavy sigh. "Your mom would have loved Sydney."  
  
  
  
"She always knew," he muttered, unable to look at his friend. "My mother... She liked Kate, and she loved Alex, but she always knew there was something I could never tell her. I could never bring myself to tell her about Sydney, not even after I thought she was dead... What would have been the point? What mother wants to hear that her son wanted to spend the rest of his life with the daughter of her husband's murderer?"  
  
  
  
"When you put it that way, it sounds pretty twisted," Eric teased as Vaughn chuckled.  
  
  
  
Glancing at his friend he continued, "I should have asked for a transfer the moment I found out."  
  
  
  
"I remember telling you that too," he remembered, his eyes lingering out at the ice. "You would have been miserable though. *She* would have been miserable..." He shook his head and then met the other man's eyes. "What would have been the point? You were already in love with her by that point, god knows if anything, it only made you more devoted to her..."  
  
  
  
"I would have done anything for her," Vaughn recalled, his voice low and cracked.  
  
  
  
"And you did do everything you could. You put your life on hold, jeopardized your standing in the agency to look for her and for Sark and Sloane and Derevko... You looked your father's killer in the eye on more than one occasion and didn't hurt her, all because you knew what it would do to Sydney. There was absolutely nothing else you could do then."  
  
  
  
The sigh that escaped him, left his body nearly doubled over, the realization soft from his lips. "But there is now."  
  
  
  
"It's not going to happen overnight... Okay, last time it did, but I think you're both a little too old for that now," Weiss jostled to his friend's chuckle. "You can't just jump back to where you were. You're not that person anymore, and neither is she."  
  
  
  
"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered, covering his eyes with his hand as he massaged his temples.  
  
  
  
"You're falling in love with Sydney Bristow." Groaning, Vaughn's head lolled forward as it shook slightly. "Yeah," Weiss chirped, gently slapping his friend on the back. "That's how I felt about it the first time around."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The sun shone through the open windows and back screen door as Sydney dropped the soiled knife into the dishwasher. Effortlessly, she grabbed the two plates off of the counter, walking them the short distance to the table with a grace she could have used during her short and disastrous stint as a waitress. Sliding the plate in front of Claire, she placed hers down and sat down as well. Sydney smiled as her daughter briefly inspected the sandwich and started to eat the crust.  
  
  
  
"So," she grinned, "who's Bryce O'Neal?"  
  
  
  
"Mom!" Claire's ears burned.   
  
  
  
"What? I let you eat your breakfast and go play pool next door before I asked!"  
  
  
  
"It doesn't matter..." She decisively shook her head, eyes drawn to her plate. "It's never going to happen. It's stupid to even think about it."  
  
  
  
"You never know," her mother encouraged. "During my freshman year of college I had it so bad for this boy, Dean. I sat next to him in one of my classes and on the first day of school, he asked for a pen. Every time I saw him use it, I would get so excited..." Her smile was nearly giddy. "Anyway," her smile slowly disappeared, "there was this party one night, so I walked up and *tried* to ask him if he wanted to go... He didn't even know my name, and I swear he and his friends laughed about it for the rest of the semester."  
  
  
  
"I thought this was supposed to be some encouraging story about how I never know what will happen?" her daughter deadpanned.  
  
  
  
"Okay," she sighed and sat back. "A few months after Dean basically scarred me for life, he came up to *me* and introduced himself."  
  
  
  
"Like he didn't even know you?!" Claire asked, struggling to hold back her laughter.  
  
  
  
Sydney nodded. "Exactly like that. Then he asked me to a concert. The weird thing was that when he walked over to me, I didn't get excited or even nervous, and when he asked me to the concert, I didn't even want to go with him."  
  
  
  
"So you turned *him* down."  
  
  
  
"Exactly, and I don't regret it," she smiled. "Although I said nearly the same thing once. That I was never going to get with this guy that I had a crush on; that it was basically stupid to even think about it. I remember not even your Aunt Francie believed me when I said that."  
  
  
  
"Who was it?" The question prompted a tiny smile from her mother, as a look dripped into her eyes that Claire had never seen before. Only once, her mind amended, in that photo from the other day "It was that guy in the picture," Claire answered on her own. "The boss guy. Michael something."  
  
  
  
"Michael Vaughn," Sydney answered. "And yes," she sighed, "it was Vaughn. That's not important now. What about Bryce?"  
  
  
  
"I don't really know him," she sighed. "I've talked to people who do though. He's a finance major, and he's really tall. Really cute too. His hair is dark and it's kind of curly, but I don't know what color his eyes are... His picture is on the Stanford athletic department website, for the basketball team. I'll show it to you later," she promised. "Apparently he's a pretty quiet guy. The rest of the team will go out and party and he'll stay in his dorm and read or watch movies..."  
  
  
  
"He sounds very sweet."  
  
  
  
"He's three years older than I am though, or almost. He's only a junior though."  
  
  
  
"So, what's the problem?"  
  
  
  
"The problem?" Claire's eyes grew. "The problem is that school is huge, he doesn't even know I exist, and he can have *anyone* he wants!"  
  
  
  
"But why wouldn't he want to be with you? Or at least be your friend?"  
  
  
  
"You're my mother," she groaned, taking a bite of her sandwich. "You're like doomed to be my biggest fan Mom. Not everyone sees me like you do."  
  
  
  
"You're a sweet, loyal, talented g - young woman," she caught herself before she referred to Claire as a girl. Despite the pains it caused her, Sydney was aware that it had been a long time since her daughter had been a little girl. "You like sports and movies and reading too. He sounds like a nice guy."  
  
  
  
"I guess he's really religious too," Claire sighed. "He's always wearing the WWJD bracelets, even in games... We're not exactly religious Mom."  
  
  
  
"So? I'm sure he's got plenty of friends of all different types of religions and no religions at all. You're wonderful with people, Tinkerbelle. I bet if you didn't have a crush on this guy, you'd have no problems introducing yourself."  
  
  
  
"Of course I'd have no problem! I wouldn't care then, but I care Mom! I don't even know the guy and I want him to like me!"  
  
  
  
"You want him to like *you*, not who you think he wants. You said so yourself, Stanford is a big school. Which, if things turn out with Bryce like they did with Dean, will be to your advantage. But... If he's half the guy you say he is, it won't be that bad."  
  
  
  
"And if he's not?"  
  
  
  
"Then he's not worth your trouble. Hey, you never told me what happened last night with Jake and Harry."  
  
  
  
"I beat Jake 11-4," she smirked. "I have some pity for Harry, so I only beat him 11-9."  
  
  
  
"How many did you purposely let him score?" Sydney inquired.  
  
  
  
"Like all nine," her daughter conceded. "He's such a nice guy Mom, and I know he likes me. I'm not going to *let* him win, but I can at least be sympathetic to his cause," she shrugged.  
  
  
  
Across from her, her mother nodded in understanding. In the earliest days of her friendship with Will, when she was aware that he was deeply interested in her but not too equipped at poker, or really any game, she would sometimes purposely lose or make the victory less substantial.   
  
  
  
"How's Laura?"  
  
  
  
"Good," Claire nodded as her mother brought up her roommate. "She's really nice too. We get along well."  
  
  
  
"That's how I met Francie."  
  
  
  
"I know," her daughter smiled. After years of curiosity, and countless occasions in which she forced herself not to snoop into her mother's most private possessions, she finally had a face with the name. The closest thing she'd had before was the simple headstone that her mother would often bring her to visit on their trips to Los Angeles. That part of the trip was understandably not among her favorite things to do.  
  
  
  
"I won't ask you to come with me to visit Francie, but there is something I'd like you to see before we leave L.A."  
  
  
  
"What?"  
  
  
  
"My grave."  
  
  
  
Claire was certain if she'd had anything in her mouth at the moment of her mother's dry delivery, it would have been spurred to the other side of the room. "Excuse me?"  
  
  
  
"Obviously there isn't a date of death there anymore," Sydney explained. "But when they thought I had... died... someone bought a double plot and a headstone and they buried me."  
  
  
  
"A double plot?" she asked, her young mind picking up on that tiny tidbit.  
  
  
  
"It's a surreal experience Tinkerbelle, standing in front of your own grave," she shook her head then sighed. "I think it's time you see it though. When the time comes, it's where I'd still like to be buried."  
  
  
  
"What about him?" she asked, her face blank as her mother grew confused.  
  
  
  
"Who?"  
  
  
  
"Michael. Vaughn, whatever," she shook her head.  
  
  
  
"I don't know, I'm assuming that it's something he's discussed with his daughter."  
  
  
  
Claire's eyes widened. "He has a daughter?"  
  
  
  
"Yes. Alexandra, she's a sophomore at the University of Arizona."  
  
  
  
"You could have mentioned that Mom."  
  
  
  
"Sorry, I'll make a point of keeping you better informed," she teased.  
  
  
  
"Well, is she nice at least?"  
  
  
  
"I don't know, I never met her," Sydney confessed. "She was born around the time I moved here."  
  
  
  
"I'm assuming he's the one who bought the double plot," Claire detected as her mother sighed.  
  
  
  
"Tink - "  
  
  
  
"You might want to discuss it with him Mom. Believe me, I know that discussing where one's body will spend the rest of eternity is not an easy discussion, especially given your... past. But you might want to consider it mandatory, given the circumstances," she dryly suggested.  
  
  
  
Sydney's lips curled slightly as she shook her head. "How did you get to be so smart?"  
  
  
  
"Lots of Zelda. Those child-rearing experts totally underestimate the power of a good video game," she smirked as Sydney laughed.  
  
  
  
"You're going to be fine Tink," she smiled softly, her tone as confident as her daughter had ever heard. "If Bryce or any other boy can't see how fantastic you are, then it's their loss."  
  
  
  
"That still doesn't give me a date on Saturday nights."  
  
  
  
Soberly, her mother sighed and sympathetically studied her daughter. "I didn't think that kind of stuff was that important to you."  
  
  
  
"It's not!" she insisted. "I just..." she sighed and met her mother's eyes. "It would be nice, sometimes, to just have someone to watch a basketball game with, or someone who's there to hug me when I'm sad or hold my hand and carry my books to class... I've never had that Mom, *ever*," Claire reminded her mother. Sydney nodded, unaware that her daughter's desire for a serious relationship ran so deep. "It's not something I *need* - and I know that," she promised. "Just... It would be nice not to be alone all the time. To have someone there who just got it," she struggled to vocalize what she sought.  
  
  
  
"Yeah," she smiled sadly at her daughter. "I understand."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The first Monday arrived along with cross-country sales on every Christmas item imaginable. During the day and a half of the weekend that Claire had spent in Trinidad, she had successfully helped her mother begin decorating the house for Christmas. As far back as she could remember they began decorating the Saturday after Thanksgiving. While ther mothers brought their children through hectic shopping centers in search of the perfect gift, the Bristow girls perfected the Christmas ambiance.  
  
  
  
For Sydney it meant fifteen days until semester exams commenced. With the way exams fell at Stanford, it was only a mere fourteen days until Claire would reappear. Compared to the first three months without her daughter, she expected the weeks to pass by with a new ease that came with knowing how to survive an empty nest. Meanwhile, there were gifts to shop for, flights to arrange, and plans to be perfected for their traditional holiday trips.   
  
  
  
Aware that it had been far too long since she'd seen him, Sydney arranged to see Peter the Friday after Claire left. The week had passed by as she fielded nearly a dozen phone calls from her mother and Will, both interested in knowing her plans for the upcoming weeks. What stuck out most in her mind, however, were the three late-night phone calls from Vaughn. All short and nearly meaningless in content, they stuck to simple things like Christmas shopping and how the Kings were playing, but she subconsciously found herself planning her evenings around the hope that the phone wound ring at precisely 10:23 at night.  
  
  
  
Friday evening Peter arrived shortly after her last class of the day. The two made small talk during the drive to the high school. For nearly two and a half hours the two were kept busy rooting for the Trinidad high school basketball team as they went on to closely defeat one of the best teams in the state. In between runs to the concession stand and the few trips to the bathroom, Sydney ran into old friends and teachers of Claire, catching up in how they'd been doing since she'd seen them. Getting into her beau's car on the way to a late dinner, she was struck by the reminder of why she liked Trinidad so much as she waved and smiled to a few of Claire's high school friends.  
  
  
  
Smiling into the Italian's blue eyes as she slid into their familiar booth, she was taken aback when he barely responded. Politely they thanked the waitresses for the menus before she briefly scanned the selection, her usual order already memorized after years of constantly ordering it. Occasionally, she would wonder why they even bothered to give her a menu when nearly everyone in the restaurant knew her by name and certainly knew her order. Sydney folded the menu and placed it back on the table, folding her hands as Peter steadily looked back at her.  
  
  
  
"Sydney... I'm going to ask you something that I have no right to ask, but... It's been on my mind for awhile now, and you always say that the only way to solve an issue is to address it," he started. Slowly her smile disappeared as she took a sip of her water and nodded, patiently waiting for him to continue. "I'm aware that it's none of my business - I didn't even know you at the time - but... You've been here for nearly twenty years Sydney, we've been acquaintances for nearly that long, and we've been close for awhile, and there's still so little that I know about you before you came here."  
  
  
  
Pushing forward a smile, returning to her years of experience with manufacturing plastic grins, Sydney inquired, "What do you want to know?"  
  
  
  
"I don't know if you remember, but a few weeks ago I ran into you here with your friend."  
  
  
  
"Michael," the foreign name plowed over her tongue as Peter nodded.  
  
  
  
"Yes. He seems like a... fine man, and I'm not questioning your loyalty..." He tore his eyes away from her, studying the house specials menu as he pressed on. "I can't get rid of the impression that you two were once more than friends..." He sighed and started to laugh uncomfortably. "Maybe it's me, maybe I have some sexist bias that men and women, especially someone as attractive as you are, can't just be friends... But I've met your friend Will, Sydney..." Peter finally looked back at her. "And I never got that feeling from him."  
  
  
  
"Peter," she sighed his name and softly thanked the waitress for bringing her wine. Momentarily considering her words, she paused to take a sip, allowing the familiar taste to briefly relax her sudden tension. No logical part of her could explain her dread at continuing this conversation, but Sydney knew there was no way to escape the topic. "Nothing happened when he was here, if that's what you're worried about."  
  
  
  
"I think I know you better than that." He smiled for a second before he sat up straighter, his face blank.   
  
  
  
"We *did* work together," Sydney insisted, unable to look at him as he nodded. "We were... attracted to one another, but for over a year we were nothing more than friends."  
  
  
  
"Until you were more than friends," Peter softly added.  
  
  
  
"Yes," she sighed. "We... It's complicated," she explained, wishing, not for the first time, that her past was easier explained not only to her daughter, but also to the people closest to her. The Alliance and Arvin Sloane were long gone, but time could never eradicate the legacy of deceit it had imposed upon her life. "Yes, we were together, only for a few months though... It was pretty serious," Sydney softly explained, brushing hair back and shaking her head as she recalled what she had once assumed would become permanent. "Things never officially ended... I really don't want to talk about it, but things happened... I was away, for two years, not of my own choosing." She struggled to adequately explain what in so many ways was still a mystery to her. "Vaughn... He thought I was dead. When I came back, he was married."  
  
  
  
"He thought you were dead? How? I don't understand -"  
  
  
  
"I really can't say." She shook her head. There was small consolation in knowing that at least that part was partially true. "I was back in Los Angeles for a year and a half before I came here. Things... We ignored it," she sighed. "We didn't talk, so things sort of just hung out in the air. Then Vaughn just... arrived a few weeks ago. His ex-wife is sick, and they offered him a big promotion at work..."  
  
  
  
Across from her, she watched his shoulders deflated and his blue eyes seemed to darken. "And after nearly twenty years, you were the first person he wanted to talk to."  
  
  
  
"Peter -"  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry Sydney," he shook his head and looked down. "I don't want to know, but I have to," he explained under his breath. Under her experienced eye, she watched as he seemed to brace himself for a harsh revelation before Peter's eyes returned to her face. "Do you love him?"   
  
  
  
Instinctively, brown eyes dipped to her neatly folded hands, blinking away the stubborn tears as she heard her companion clear his throat.   
  
  
  
"Sydney, please look at me," he softly requested. Through the moisture that blurred her vision, she finally responded to his request. "We both know your answer."  
  
  
  
"I had no idea this would happen -"  
  
  
  
"I know," he stopped her. "I know Sydney, but we weren't going anywhere, not really... We've had fun, and I still think we can be friends, but I don't want to keep my hopes up for something you can never give me."  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry." She cleared her throat, one hand quickly wiping away her tears.  
  
  
  
Peter shook his head and sighed. "I don't understand what happened to the two of you - and I'm not going to ask," he promised. "Before I met him the other day, the *only* thing I've seen make you *really* happy since I've known you, was Claire. You know I think Claire is a great, great kid," he emphasized as Sydney nodded. "Still... She's on her own now, she's all grown up, and as wonderful as she is, I don't think I ever saw her put the look on your face that Mr. Vaughn did."  
  
  
  
"He lives in Los Angeles." Sydney smiled and shook her head. "I don't know Peter, it's been so long."  
  
  
  
"I do," he insisted. "The minute I looked at that man Sydney, I knew. Maybe you don't see it, but everyone else does. He'd move to the moon for a chance to be with you and not give it a second thought."  
  
  
  
"So this is over?"  
  
  
  
"I'd like to think we'll still be friends." He smiled at her. "I think, if you let him, he can make you happy. And you can make him happy."  
  
  
  
"I haven't been dumped since I was in college."   
  
  
  
Peter chuckled. "I'm not dumping you. I just... I'm not an idiot Sydney. I saw the way you two looked at each other. Hell, even Dave asked if you two had ever been involved. It's not like you and I were going anywhere great anyway," he pointed out. Lowering his voice he reminded, "We haven't even slept together yet."  
  
  
  
"I know." She wiped away the residue of moisture and shook her head.   
  
  
  
"Anyway," he sighed and leaned back into his booth. "I was thinking about seeing if Georgia was interested in going out to dinner in a few weeks."  
  
  
  
"Georgia?" she laughed. "*My* friend Georgia?"  
  
  
  
"What's so funny about that?"  
  
  
  
Snuggled in her seat, a Cheshire grin danced across her features, her eyes lit up with a secret. "You like her!"  
  
  
  
"Hey, I was friends with Rick, you know that. I'm not overly comfortable with all of Trinidad knowing I'm interested in her."  
  
  
  
"Sorry," she smiled. "Honestly," Sydney soberly continued, "she's wonderful, and I know she's been lonely. The two of you get along well, and I know you'll understand that some days... Some days she still misses him."  
  
  
  
"So do I," he agreed.  
  
  
  
"You two could be good for each other."  
  
  
  
"Look in the mirror and tell yourself that Bristow," Peter teased.   
  
Leaning across the table as she began to eat her food, he began, "My curiosity is peaked though."  
  
  
  
"About what?"  
  
  
  
"Were you *always* a hockey fan, or do we have Mr. Vaughn to blame for the fact that Claire spends her winters talking about nothing but the Kings?"  
  
  
  
Color blazed onto her cheeks as she looked down at her food. "I like the Kings. I've been rooting for them for years."  
  
  
  
"So has your daughter." Peter grinned. "What I want to know is, if this began before or after Mr. Vaughn?"  
  
  
  
"When I moved to Trinidad, I was completely on my own for the first time," she explained. Sipping her wine, she drank the courage to meet his eyes. "There were... Probably six or seven people that I missed very badly, but four most of all. So I started this bizarre habit..." She smiled and shook her head.  
  
  
  
"What?" he pressed, a twinkle in his eye.  
  
  
  
"My best friend, Francie, she... passed away before I moved here," she explained.  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry -"  
  
  
  
"Don't be," she stopped him. Sympathy was two decades too late and there was nothing he could have done anyway. "Francie owned a restaurant, loved Thanksgiving and Ewan McGregor movies. So, every Thanksgiving I make a meal that I'll never eat all of. On her birthday, no matter how... insane my life is, even if it's at two in the morning, I always watch an Ewan McGregor movie."  
  
  
  
"That's one person."  
  
  
  
"My friend Will - you've met him?" Sydney asked. Peter nodded, recalling at least half a dozen meetings with a blonde man who, no matter how sharply dressed he looked, always gave off the appearance of a scraggly dog. "Will worked as a journalist once, for the Los Angeles Register. So everyday I have the paper delivered here. I'm not even sure *why* it's in circulation so far north of Los Angeles, but it is," she smiled. "He and Francie were just massive fans of the Lakers too... Back when Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal used to play," she explained as he nodded. "So every season I try to watch a few games. Sometimes I'll even go to a game, take Claire when I can. I root for the Dodgers too, because of Will. I know they're horrible, but he loves them," she explained as Peter grinned.  
  
  
  
"Two."  
  
  
  
"Right," she nodded. "My father... I wanted to do something, have something that I took an interest in or had in my daily life that reminded me of him. Unfortunately, it wasn't very easy to find something."  
  
  
  
"I find it difficult to believe your father has any other interests outside of work."  
  
  
  
"So did I," she dryly agreed. "He *loves* photography though. It was something I had forgotten for a long time, until I moved in here and he sent me a bunch of old pictures. He used to love camping too.   
  
Before my mother died," she swallowed over the old lie, "we would go camping a few times a year. I try to take Claire a few times a year, and I'm always taking pictures and sending them to my dad. I realize it's not a lot, but it's a way of having a part of him in my life." She smiled and shrugged.  
  
  
  
"And Mr. Vaughn?"  
  
  
  
A sad smile slid across her lips as she slowly sipped her wine. As much as she tried, it was difficult to be too excited over him once again entering her life. All it did was remind her that he had left it in the first place, and that no matter how badly they tried, they would never be able to replace what they had lost. "Vaughn loves hockey. That was the first personal thing I ever found out about him," she recalled. "He loves pool too, and dogs and painting..." she listed. "Hockey is his passion though. For awhile it felt like every moment we weren't working we were playing hockey or watching hockey..."  
  
  
  
"So you liked hockey, even then."  
  
  
  
"No," she laughed. "I liked the zamboni. Still do," she confessed.   
  
Peter watched her grow serious, her mind a lifetime away. "I was lonely.   
  
When I came back, watching the Kings just became part of my routine...   
  
And I really needed a routine," Sydney sadly remembered.   
  
  
  
"Why didn't you just get a job in Los Angeles?"  
  
  
  
"Humboldt offered me a good position," she shrugged. "Better than I would have been able to get at a bigger school in L.A. Plus... I had to leave," she sighed. "Being in L.A. was too difficult."  
  
  
  
"And now the one thing you thought you'd gotten rid of is back to haunt you," Peter softly chuckled. Shaking her head, Sydney allowed a soft laugh to escape her.  
  
  
  
"I didn't want to get rid of him," she sighed. "I really didn't want to lose anything I had in L.A.," Sydney remembered. Then her shoulders shrugged as she took another sip of her wine. "I guess it just worked out that way."  
  
  
  
"Take my advice Sydney," his voice cracked through her musings. "When my mother passed away, she had done everything she wanted, loved my father her whole life and done everything she could to be happy. You are one of the few women I've ever met who managed to impress me more than my mother," he explained. "That man... No human being should have the right to make another human being that happy," Peter chuckled and shook his head. "It's confusing, the power we allow other people to have over us, over who we are and how we feel about ourselves..."  
  
  
  
"Why do we do it?" she asked, wondering if a nearly sixty year old bachelor could solve a mystery that a myriad of far better people had failed.  
  
  
  
"Because..." he sighed and sat back against the booth. "Because as much as it kicks us in the ass, when it works, supposedly there's nothing more worthwhile in life."  
  
  
  
They quietly finished their dinner before he drove her back to her home. Hugging her before she retreated into her warm home, the two parted on good terms. In a town like Trinidad it was difficult to avoid anyone, and neither wanted to lose the other's friendship. Even so, Sydney knew Peter was right. With Vaughn back, her heart was certainly not up for grabs - if it ever was to begin with. When she was honest with herself, she even had her doubts. Michael Vaughn owned a part of her that most other people didn't even realize existed. The only way to permanently lock him out was to never see him; an option she was painfully familiar with.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Christmas shopping and preparing exams led her to all but forget their decision to drop an attempt at a romantic relationship. During her phone calls to both Vaughn and Claire she didn't mention the break up, having made a conscious decision that it was news better shared in person. Plus, her daughter was burdened down with exams, her first as a college student, leaving her regular phone calls short and slightly frantic as she struggled to juggle everything. As much as she missed Claire, Sydney wasn't worried, confident that her daughter would eventually master the balancing act, just as she had once done.  
  
  
  
Claire's car pulled into the driveway on the second Sunday of December, a miserable, rainy day, a week before her eighteenth birthday. Wrapped up in exam preparations in the family room, she listened as her daughter let herself in, greeting the dogs and cats with sweet reserve and a coddling tone that one would only use with their pets.   
  
  
  
"Mom!" she finally called, smiling when she saw her mother busy at work.  
  
  
  
"Hey sweetie," Sydney smiled absently at her daughter.  
  
  
  
"Working hard?" she teased as her mother shrugged. Walking up behind her, Claire wrapped her arms around her mother's shoulders, kissing the top of her head. "I've missed you!"  
  
  
  
"I've missed you too." She looked at her with a sad smile. "Sorry, I just have to finish these. Exams start tomorrow."  
  
  
  
Claire shrugged. "Sure. Anything I can do to help?"  
  
  
  
"I don't think so sweetheart," she considered. "How were your exams?"  
  
  
  
"Over," she smiled, releasing an overly dramatic sigh as she leaned against the back of the double glider. "So, guess what?"   
  
  
  
"Hmm..." she hummed, her eyes on the stack of exams. "You think you failed your finals?"  
  
  
  
"No, thank god," Claire sighed in relief. A smile broke out briefly on her mother's face, Sydney recalling the relief she felt after having survived her first exams. It was a lifetime ago now, but the feeling of relief was not one you forgot easily. "Guess again."  
  
  
  
"You've decided to drop the field hockey team so now I have to scramble to find they money to pay Stanford's ridiculously high tuition?"   
  
  
  
"Mom!" her daughter laughed. "Something *good* Mom!"  
  
  
  
Turning half around in her chair, Sydney shrugged. "I give up sweetheart."  
  
  
  
Leaning forward, her voice dropped as she spoke, "I *know* him Mom!"  
  
  
  
Sydney slowly smiled. "Bryce O'Neal?"  
  
  
  
"Yep!" Claire grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "We're like *friends* now Mom!"  
  
  
  
"Really?"  
  
  
  
"Really!!" She continued to nod, her body almost humming with excitement.  
  
  
  
"How did you manage to meet him?"  
  
  
  
"It was so *not* on purpose - trust me, I would have worn something better!" she insisted as her mother laughed. "It was like right after I got back from Thanksgiving. The morning I left for classes, it was nice out, so I walked to my classes, since they were like right around the corner," she started to tell her story as Sydney patiently nodded. "By the time I got *out* of the library, it was pouring Mom! I had to walk like two blocks to the freaking shuttle stop because it was like a twenty minute walk to my dorm and there was no way in hell I was doing *that*," Claire clarified. "So, by the time I actually get *on* the bus, I look like a drowned rat. Seriously Mom, I looked horrible!" She shook her head as her mother covered a laugh. "So I'm on the bus, and it's packed. I'm looking out the window, standing there looking like an idiot, and this guy just moves his duffel for me and looks at me like I'd be an ass for not sitting."  
  
  
  
"Bryce?"  
  
  
  
The color blazed across her face. "One and the same."  
  
  
  
"He's a gentleman."  
  
  
  
"He really is!" she confirmed. "He's so great Mom! He's twenty one, he's from Wisconsin and he's a finance major."  
  
  
  
"I'm impressed."  
  
  
  
"There's sort of more..." She hesitated. Silently, her mother urged her to continue, her smile warm and encouraging as Claire finally broke. "He wants to meet you."  
  
  
  
"Already?"  
  
  
  
"Well... He says I talk about you all the time. Which I probably do," she groaned. "I thought, since it's basketball season, you could come down and see a game. Maybe spend the weekend. That way we could get some time to hang out too."  
  
  
  
"I think it sounds like a great idea," she agreed. "So are you two friends or more than friends?"  
  
  
  
"He hasn't kissed me yet, if that's what you're getting at," Claire insisted. "We spend basically all of our free time hanging out though.   
  
Laura likes him, which makes life a lot easier... Sometimes he'll hold my hand. He's so sweet Mom! He's a part of this Christian group on campus. Not exactly my usual cup of tea, but they had this Christmas prayer service, so I went with him before I left."  
  
  
  
"Sounds nice," Sydney slowly approved. "I'm glad you've met him and that he's not another Dean."  
  
  
  
"Me too! So, when are we leaving?"  
  
  
  
"Our flight to L.A. is Saturday morning. My grades should be in to the office by then. I thought you'd want to spend your birthday with Uncle Will."  
  
  
  
"Sure," Claire shrugged.   
  
  
  
"Then we're supposed to leave for Seattle the twenty eighth. My classes don't start again until the 15th, but your calendar says the 7th."  
  
  
  
"Right. We're on quarters though Mom, so we start slightly earlier than you, plus we got out first."  
  
  
  
"Show off," Sydney smirked.   
  
  
  
"So, what's been new around here?"  
  
  
  
"I took Gehrig to the vet, she says he needs to lose some weight," she explained, eyes drawn back to her exams.  
  
  
  
Claire snorted. "Gehrig's had to lose weight since he was like one and a half."  
  
  
  
"What else... Exams are almost over... Gehrig and the vet... Oh, and Peter and I broke up," she casually added.  
  
  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
  
  
"I mean, we're still friends," she quickly added. "Just... Our romantic relationship just wasn't working."  
  
  
  
"Mom! You dumped him for that Vaughn guy, didn't you?"  
  
  
  
"Claire!" She turned around to face her daughter. "I *didn't* dump him. Peter brought up the subject and we mutually decided it was better if we were just friends. Anyway, Peter is interested in the possibility of a relationship with your Aunt Georgia."  
  
  
  
"Eww." Her nose wrinkled as her mother laughed.   
  
  
  
"I think it's wonderful sweetheart. Nothing has happened between   
  
Vaughn and I. I don't know if it will, but Peter thinks it might and he wants to give me the opportunity to pursue it if I can."  
  
  
  
"But you're still friends?"  
  
  
  
"Right," she confirmed.   
  
  
  
"Well, I guess it's something," she sighed. Slowly she stood. "I'm going to go unpack. Do some laundry."  
  
  
  
"Okay Tinkerbelle," Sydney returned her attention to her work. "Love you."  
  
  
  
"Love you too Mom." Claire dropped a kiss to her mother's head, passing her on her journey up the stairs to her bedroom. 


	8. Chapter 7

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
Authors Note: Recommended listening for this (not so much THIS as really every post-The Telling fic, IMHO) is "Here Without You" by 3 Doors Down. I know I'm showing my age again, but give it a try and tell me if it doesn't make YOU think of Vaughn & Sydney.   
  
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"I'm here without you baby but your still on my lonely mind   
  
I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time   
  
I'm here without you baby but your still with me in my dreams   
  
But tonight girl it's only you and me . . " - "Here Without You", 3 Doors Down.  
  
Traveling at Christmas time was always a delicate art. Sydney's semester grades had been input into the school computer system mere hours before their flight. The flight left the airport in Eureka, and with their brief lay over in Sacramento, they arrived at LAX just after ten in the morning. Teetering with people, it was nearly another two hours before they were on the road heading to Will's modest home. Laid down with suitcases and duffels of clothes and gifts, they made the short drive, pulling in behind Will's aged Jeep around two in the afternoon.  
  
There were few people in the world that the pair enjoyed seeing more than Will Tippin. The easygoing, loyal, loving friendship he shared with Sydney had strengthened despite the years of geographical distance. In turn, he'd grown into a fun-loving, protective uncle to Claire, the only child in his world. Claire was the closest thing he'd ever come to having his own children, after years of trying to have children with a woman who, in the end, hadn't even wanted them. While Sydney checked in at the school, insuring that all her grades were there without any problems, Claire and Will ate a late lunch and began what became a marathon game of Zelda. The two took turns playing until Sydney read through half of her book and decided it was time for them to have dinner.   
  
Sunday marked Claire's eighteenth birthday. Will walked into his kitchen that morning to find Sydney standing over the stove, preparing her daughter's favorite breakfast with tears in her eyes. Silently, he pulled his best friend into his arms, allowing her to cry softly for a few minutes before they could hear the birthday girl descending the stairs. Over chocolate chip pancakes and orange juice the two sang their off-key rendition of 'Happy Birthday to You', allowing Claire to open one present.   
  
Will had spent two weeks pulling every string he had - and calling in some favors that he didn't have - to get tickets to that afternoon's Kings game. Sydney was amazed that he had ended up with three of the best seats they'd ever had. Most amazingly, the Kings were playing the team in their division who had a one game lead on them, elevating the game's tension. As she always was, Claire was an excited fan, screaming and disagreeing with the official's calls with a vigor usually reserved for field hockey. The Kings thankfully ended up with a win in overtime, and she had the opportunity to gleefully watch the zamboni before they left.  
  
In between her class exams and their travels, it had been near impossible for Sydney to bake her daughter a cake. Instead, Will called ahead to make reservations at Claire's favorite restaurant. They went there during most trips to Los Angeles, and the food improved with each visit. Before they departed for the restaurant, the birthday girl was given most of her gifts. She was, as always, thoroughly spoiled by her mother and uncle. Before they departed for Seattle, she'd receive presents from her Uncle Marcus, Uncle Marshall and Aunt Carrie as well. There were books and CD's, clothes, and various odds and ends that were necessary for college life. After dinner they returned to Will's house, where a birthday cake had all but miraculously appeared in his refrigerator. Another round of off-key singing accompanied the delicious cake before they all turned in for the evening.  
  
They began the week by helping Will finish decorating for Christmas. Since his wife had left him, there had been very little done to the house for the holidays by the time they arrived. Experts at decorating, Will was more than happy to sit back and let Sydney and Claire take care of it. Sometimes as he sat watching them, he was reminded of the days when they were younger, and if he squinted hard enough, he swore he could see Francie where Claire now stood. By the early afternoon they were done, and Will scurried off to do some last minute shopping as mother and daughter got into their own car.  
  
"You didn't have to do this," Sydney sighed as they pulled past the familiar gates onto a road that seemed to stretch and curve ahead solemnly for miles on end.   
  
"You wanted me to do this," her daughter softly reminded her. "If it's important to you, I'll give it a try."  
  
Although she'd been the one to suggest it, she was suddenly uncomfortable with what they were about to do. Perhaps Claire was too young for this. Perhaps I'm too young for this, her mind suggested. Silently in the passenger's seat, her daughter watched the rows and rows of rising granite pass by, her mind clearly remembering who she knew was buried where. Then the car made an unusual swirl left, going down a road in the cemetery that was unfamiliar to her. Progressively, her mother's driving slowed down as she searched for the proper row, the car softly dying as she cut the ignition. Over her shoulder, Sydney tossed her daughter a small, bittersweet smile and got out of the car.  
  
Two steps behind her mother, Claire did the same. Crossing her hands in front of her, she felt as though she was walking through the sacred halls of an aged cathedral as her mother led her down a small path. High above them, the sun boiled down, warming her skin and making her wish she'd worn shorts. Somehow though, shorts and a t-shirt seemed terribly inappropriate for what they were about to do, no matter how itchy the light sweater and corduroys caused her to be. Reaching her mother's side, Sydney had her head bowed down, seemingly remembering another lifetime.  
  
It's not everyday that a person got to stand in front of their own grave. By far the most beautiful stone in sight, the heart-shaped granite stone had a cross rising from the top with 'BRISTOW' written horizontally on the cross and was visible from the road. The rose colored granite, along with the beautiful, albeit simple, work of roses and angels on the stone, only added to its beauty.   
  
In her mind, Sydney still saw the grave as it was the first time she'd made the seemingly unimaginable visit. Fresh flowers in a rainbow of colors had been placed around the front and sides of the grave, nearly a year after they'd first dug it, giving the clear implication that someone had loved her. In that moment, nearly two decades ago, the realization had been bitter and obvious. Someone had loved Sydney Bristow, who had been commenced in the stone; the young woman who had gone missing at twenty-eight and been presumed dead. At thirty, as she had stood there in desperate search of her memories, she had been certain someone *had* loved her. Not just someone, many people.  
  
That *was* a lifetime ago now, as evidenced by the young woman who stood by her side. While her name and birth date remained, the year of death had long ago been taken off of the granite. Now it just waited for her to arrive, the blank space in the heart where the name of her husband should go all but mocking her. Perhaps at the time Vaughn had envisioned being buried next to her one day; perhaps that's why he bought the massive stone in the first place, although she'd been cremated. There were so many what ifs, none of which she'd ever found the desire to have answered.   
  
Unsure of her own voice, Claire reached out for her mother's hand, clinging to it as she had as a young child. Loudly she cleared her throat, finally finding the courage to speak. "There's just an empty coffin?"  
  
"No," her mother's voice all but cracked over the simple syllable. "They thought they found my body... The remains were cremated, and spread in the ocean. Do you remember the pier?"  
  
"Yes," she replied, suddenly afraid of where this was going.  
  
When Sydney met her daughter's eyes, the replica of her own, the tears were written everywhere but on her cheeks, where she refused to let them fall. "They held my memorial service there," she explained, looking away.   
  
"Mom -" the moisture was obvious in Claire's voice as her mother shook her head.  
  
"It isn't easy for me to be here," Sydney confessed. "I can't imagine it's any easier for you." She smiled apologetically at her beloved little girl. Now a woman herself, Sydney would always look at her and see the little girl who had entered her world and made it immeasurably better. "Thank you for coming."  
  
"It's beautiful," Claire sniffled, her eyes drawn back to the headstone.   
  
"Yes," her mother agreed.  
  
"He really did love you," her daughter assessed.  
  
"I was lucky," she softly spoke, Claire slowly looking back at her. "A lot of people did."  
  
Sydney was surprised to feel her daughter drop her hand, and then all but throw herself into her mother's arms. Claire clung to her tightly, her body heaving with silent tears. "It's so sad," her daughter muffled against Sydney's shirt, struggling to explain her behavior.  
  
"It is sad," her mother sighed, holding her daughter close. "It is sad Tinkerbelle, but it was so long ago... I'm alright though," she attempted to sound optimistic as her shaking daughter slowly stilled. "I'm fine, I'm alive and I'm happy... I have you, the best thing that ever happened to me. What would I do without you?" Sydney pulled back and smiled at her daughter, gently reaching up to wipe away the tear tracks from her red face. "It *is* sad," she confirmed, brushing hair off of her daughter's face. "It's sad, and that part of my life *was* sad and very difficult... It's over now though," she reminded her. "It's over. I'm healthy, and I have no plans on going anywhere for a long, long time."  
  
"Promise?" Claire sniffled, wiping her teary eyes with the back of her hands.  
  
"I'll do my best," Sydney smiled. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead and took her hand. "C'mon, let's go."   
  
Her daughter's voice raised hopefully, "Ice cream?"  
  
"Sure," she laughed. "Let's go get some ice cream."  
  
Tuesday morning Will was gone, having left Sydney a note that he'd gone in to do a few things before the holiday break. As a former government employee, Sydney knew better than most that the government never slept. Mindful of her sleeping daughter, she padded through the kitchen barefoot. Killing time, she made a quiet phone call to Georgia, insuring that Gehrig and the cats were fending fine, and feigning surprise when her friend told her that Peter had asked her out. The two shared a few minutes of conversation, Sydney offering advice to her emotionally torn friend, before they hung up with promises to speak in a few days.  
  
"Hey," she smiled up at her daughter, who walked into the kitchen just before ten. With nothing left to do, Sydney had already showered and changed into clothes for the day. By the time Claire emerged, she was at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal.  
  
"Hi," Claire yawned, pouring herself some juice and sitting at the table.  
  
"Any big plans today?"  
  
"Actually..." She swallowed her juice and looked cautiously at her mother. "Laura lives in San Fernando Valley. I talked to her online last night. Could I go visit her? Maybe sleep over?" she asked hopefully.   
  
Silently, her mother contemplated the request, taking another bite of her cereal. Sensing some possible hesitation, she continued to plead her case. "I know tomorrow's Christmas Eve, but we really don't do anything until tomorrow night anyway. If I sleep over, I promise I'll be back tomorrow morning. Please Mom?"  
  
"You don't need to beg," her mother laughed, swallowing the remainder of her breakfast. "I just don't want you to impose on their family right before Christmas."  
  
"Laura's got six brothers and sisters. The place is *always* insane - her parents will barely notice I'm there!" she insisted, her brown eyes twinkling.  
  
"Is all your shopping done?"  
  
"Most of it," she shrugged. "Laura and I will probably finish together."  
  
"Do you need money?"  
  
"I'm fine," Claire insisted. "So I can go?!"  
  
"Yes," Sydney laughed. "You can go. Just take your cell phone in case I need you."  
  
"Thanks Mom!" Her daughter quickly dived to hug her. "You're the best!"  
  
"I try," she chuckled.  
  
"Where's Uncle Will?"  
  
"Working."  
  
"Oh," her daughter sighed. "I'm sorry Mom, I can't leave you alone -"  
  
Dismissively she shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm going to be fine. You go and have fun. I'll find something to do," she promised.   
  
Just after noon, Claire disappeared into Laura's car. Sydney had waited outside with her daughter, taking the opportunity to meet the young woman who was her daughter's roommate. When they had moved her into the Stanford dorm months earlier, just the athletes were reporting to the school, meaning her roommate hadn't arrived until nearly ten days later. By then Sydney had been back in Los Angeles, only able to hear her daughter's roommate in the background and pick up bits and pieces in conversation. In the end she wasn't disappointed, introducing herself to an obviously eloquent, intelligent young woman who promised to drive safely and said it was nice to meet her as well. She was then left to wave at the disappearing car, the girls eager to catch up and go shopping.  
  
Christmas time in Los Angeles was not a boring place. Still, nothing she read about in the newspapers or knew about from her years of living in the area appealed to her that afternoon. So she ended up at the Arcadia address that had imprinted itself on her soul half a lifetime ago, in the one place she never allowed herself to even drive by. The home that she refused to remember even existed. Yet somehow, she found her rental car sliding neatly into the driveway of the modest ranch. Confidently, she climbed the handful of front stairs and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she sat. There was, after all, nowhere else to go.  
  
She had patiently sat there for nearly forty-five minutes, relieved that no curiously well-intentioned neighbors had called the police on her, when a familiar car pulled into the driveway, the driver's _expression understandably confused as the car died. Hesitantly she pulled to her feet, wiping her hands on her jeans and praying that the sweat wasn't visible on the denim. Pushing a smile onto her lips, she watched as his own curved into a half smile. He cautiously approached her, as though just waiting for her to disappear.  
  
"Syd?"  
  
"Hey." She smiled as he stopped a foot in front of her.   
  
"Is everything okay?" he asked, the concern deepening on his face. Michael Vaughn struggled to translate her expression; terrified he'd lost the ability he once had to read her soul.  
  
"Everything's fine," she vowed, her grin toothy. Sighing in relief, his body instantly relaxed as he grinned.  
  
"Good," Vaughn agreed. Then the confusion reappeared with a vengeance. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Do you have time to go somewhere?" she questioned softly, the hesitation growing obvious on her features. At his skeptical look, she continued, "To talk?"  
  
"Yeah Syd," he answered in a low voice. "Sure," he agreed, allowing her to lead him back to his own car.  
  
Fifteen minutes later he found himself by her side, itching to take her hand as they walked along the once familiar grounds of Griffith   
  
Observatory. Sydney hadn't been there in over two decades. The simple structure brought back too many memories for her, and during the short time she had spent in Los Angeles after her disappearance, she had never dared return. Claire enjoyed going there once in a while, as Jack had taken her when she was younger, and occasionally Will would go with her too. Sydney, however, had made a silent vow never to return. Except at that moment in time, with that man by her side, it didn't hurt as much as she thought it would.  
  
"Do you have Alex for Christmas?"  
  
Vaughn's eyes dashed to her, surprised to hear her break the silence. He'd driven without her instructions, deciding for the observatory over the pier. Clearing his throat, his eyes returned to his sneakers.   
  
"No," he explained. "Since Kate's sick, we decided it would be better for her to be with her mother," he finished. For a moment they were silent, her head solemnly bobbing in understanding. "Claire?"  
  
"Her roommate lives in San Fernando Valley, so she's spending the day with her," Sydney clarified.   
  
"How's Will?"  
  
"Good," she smiled. "He's good. We took Claire to a Kings game for her birthday."  
  
"I didn't realize she liked ice hockey."  
  
Amazingly, her smile blossomed as she glanced at him. "She adores the Kings. She's even worse than you are."  
  
"No," he chuckled, his head shaking.  
  
"Yes," she insisted. In half a second her tone dropped and her face grew sober. "She really is."  
  
"Alex hates hockey," he sighed, his head dropping forward as they walked. "She loves tennis. And figuring skating," he recalled.  
  
"Vaughn - "   
  
"Sydney -" they began together. Unconsciously their eyes drew to one another, both laughing.   
  
"I'm sorry." Sydney shook her head, the smile firmly in place as she pulled hair behind her ear. "You go."  
  
A serious look etched out over his handsome features, his hands stuck in his jeans as he nodded and faced her. "Why are you here Syd?"  
  
"I was in L.A.," she shrugged, her eyes subtly dropping from his. "I guess I just wanted to talk," she confessed.  
  
Pressing his lips together, he seemed to understand with a slight nod of his head. "Well," his voice was low and cracked for a moment before he continued, "I'm glad you came."  
  
"Me too," she smiled. They continued their walk for a few more moments, their arms occasionally brushing as they passed the occasional person taking in the observatory's view. Slowing down near the massive telescope, familiar with the area as she had been in her younger years, she paused to look out at the view.   
  
"What did you want to say?" he finally questioned.  
  
Sighing, Sydney's smile was tiny as she brushed hair behind her ear. "It's stupid."  
  
"It's not stupid Syd," he gently corrected.   
  
Briefly, she bit her lip before turning to face him. "You don't have to tell me - it's none of my business," she assured him. "You never told me whether or not you took the director's position."  
  
The subject made him visibly uncomfortable, his eyes drawn out to the overcast sky. Reflexively, his hands found their way into the pockets of his pants as she stood a short distance away. Eventually Vaughn had no choice but to fully face her; any risk of meeting her eyes in public a long ago, distant, painful memory. Ironically, some of those most painful moments were still among the ones that held closest to his heart, the milestones in his relationship with Sydney Bristow.  
  
Any reaction had been long ago played in his mind, and Michael Vaughn was certain he had covered all of his bases as he proceeded down a suddenly unpredictable course. "I decided not to take the position," he explained. Before she could respond appropriately, he continued, "I retired Syd."  
  
"What - " she began her understandably startled response. The single syllable had barely escaped her when his lips were on her own, claiming them with a certainty that was long ago overdue. Whatever confusion, doubt or questions that continued to linger in her mind were tossed aside. Instead, Vaughn's hands instinctively rested on her hips and her arms gracefully wrapped around him. Sydney's reaction to his forward approach far surpassed anything he had expected, and he found himself pulling back moments later after she had deepened the kiss.  
  
Struggling to catch her breath, Sydney felt him battle to do the same as his warm breath landed on her neck. "Did you know," he began, his voice barely audible over the bitter wind, "that Humboldt was looking for a lecturer for the Politics and Government department?"  
  
"No," she chuckled, briefly resting her forehead against his light jacket. Hesitantly she pulled back, in no rush to break their world. "You didn't," she grinned, his own grin nearly wider than she ever imagined.  
  
"I did," he replied, his grin growing goofy as he leaned down to kiss her again. This time, they slowly drank in one another, enjoying the few moments where it felt like the entire future was theirs alone. Slowly the duo broke apart, her fingers dancing over the fabric of his jacket. "What?" he softly inquired, his nose slightly nudging her forehead as her eyes remained fixated on his jacket.   
  
The moisture pooled in front of her eyes when her dark orbs met his green ones. Swallowing hard, her voice was low when she finally spoke. "Peter and I are through."  
  
"Since when?" Vaughn questioned.  
  
"A few days ago," she confessed. "We... We were never meant to be more than friends," she sighed and shrugged. Under her scrutiny, she watched as his grin only grew wider. Sydney could only wonder if she had once worn a similar expression when told of the deterioration of what he had once shared with Alice. Slowly she returned the smile, her fingers running through the ends of his hair before she leaned up to slowly claim his lips once again.   
  
"Do you have any plans?" His voice was enough to make her melt as they pulled apart, breathing a seemingly frivolous necessity.   
  
"None," she vowed, each grinning happily at each other.  
  
Comfortably Vaughn took her hand, tugging it towards his lips to carefully place a kiss on it and cradling it between both of his before he led her back to the car.  
  
It had been sixteen and a half years, give or take a few months, since Sydney had pulled an all nighter. The sun had barely cracked a ray onto the sky as she lay snuggled in his arms, no regrets as she lightly dozed. The sheets were soft and cream colored; his bed had been hastily made upon her entrance. Whether or not he made his bed had not been her primary concern, and she found it oddly reassuring that he hadn't turned compulsively neat in the twenty something years since she'd last been his.  
  
Michael Vaughn placed an open mouthed kiss on her shoulder blade and replaced his chin in the crook of her neck. The hours had washed away her make up, leaving her freckles obvious under his careful gaze. In her light sleep, she was just as beautiful as he ever recalled. Eyelashes were long and dark, resting against her pale skin while the scattered dusting of freckles was painted along her nose. Everything about her was precious to him, from her nose to the miniscule hairs that trailed up and down her body.  
  
Sydney's body was different than it had been the last time he'd been with her, but he'd been no less eager. At fifty-seven, Vaughn's body was not what it once had been either; neither was his stamina, yet her patience with him left him loving her even more. For hours he'd taken a slow worship of her body, learning and relearning everything from the c-section scar from Claire's birth to the other scars, the shadows of the life they had once shared. In his tenderness he had taken extra care with the near invisible scars, wanting to take away all the painful memories that had separated them.   
  
Despite her half-awake state, she was aware of his study of her. Once in awhile he'd kiss her neck or shoulders, or his finger would lightly trace her hip or he'd deeply breathe her in. This all felt remarkably new to her. Sydney hadn't lived the life of a nun; she had been with men since David had left, but she'd been cautious. Discreet had been the key word, and the nerves would appear whenever she imagined introducing anyone to Claire. So instead, she found herself making excuses when she'd partake in a relationship, especially when her daughter was young. Claire would have sleepovers, or weekend birthday parties, or simply be over at a friend's. Sydney would fabricate reasons for having to stay late for work, or meeting a friend for coffee after work, instead slipping away for dates. After all she had survived during her daughter's earliest years, it seemed foolish and rash to introduce a man to Claire, not wanting to confuse her little girl or upset her when the relationship inevitably ended. Even with that in mind, it had been well over two years since she'd been with a man.  
  
"You're so beautiful," he sighed into her ear, the words a prayer she had long since given up ever hearing again.  
  
"I need to leave soon," she regretfully realized, the minutes ticking closer and closer to seven.  
  
"You can stay," he muffled, his lips moving gently over the skin of her neck as he spoke.  
  
Sydney glanced at him over her shoulder. "I can't."  
  
"Yeah," he sighed. "I know," he realized, leaning in to kiss her lips then nuzzle his nose against hers.  
  
Smiling at him for a moment, she turned her head back around, resting her cheek against the soft pillow as his arm tightened. "Are you really going to be a lecturer?"  
  
"Yeah," he sighed again, "I am."  
  
Unable to look at him, she studied his neatly painted bedroom wall, feeling his breath on her bare skin as her voice softly cracked, "Why?"  
  
"Trinidad's beautiful."  
  
"Vaughn," Sydney chuckled and glanced briefly at him, silently demanding the truth.  
  
"I couldn't be in the CIA anymore Syd," he confessed. "I didn't want to be... If I didn't want the chance to be the director, what the hell was I still doing there? Any goal I ever had for myself in the agency has been long since fulfilled... I found out about the position at Humboldt... Syd..."  
  
"I need to know," she quietly insisted.  
  
"The life I have... My life here... It isn't working," he softly attempted to explain.   
  
Swallowing back her own uncertainty, Vaughn barely heard her when she spoke again. "How do you know this will?"  
  
"No regrets Syd," he reminded her. "Not anymore."  
  
For a few moments the woman in his arms appeared content with his answer, her head nodding slightly. Then her eyes dropped as her fingers danced over the blonde hairs that covered his lower arms. "A few days ago," Sydney started suddenly, "I took Claire to see it."  
  
"What?" he inquired, his face tucked safely into the crook of her neck.  
  
"My grave," her voice dropped at her own answer.  
  
"Syd -"  
  
"I usually go by myself Vaughn... Usually it reminds me how lucky I am, that I really wasn't dead, that I got a second chance... Claire... She just cried Vaughn. I haven't seen her that upset in so long. She has every right to be sad; it is sad... I knew I had to bring her there eventually. When I go, it's where I want to be," her voice and eyes dropped as he patiently listened. "Standing there with her... Claire's been everything to me for so long," she recalled, taking his hand and tugging it, resting it under her cheek. "The person you bought that headstone for is dead Vaughn. I'm not her anymore."  
  
"I know Syd," he sighed into her neck, gently kissing under her ear. "I know."  
  
"I want to be sometimes," Sydney confessed, blinking away her tears. "That person... She thought she knew all the horrors in the world, had seen every imaginable evil... I can't be her, not even for you."  
  
Vaughn sucked in a gulp of her natural scent, holding her as close as he dared, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear. "I'm not that same man either," he promised. "I wanted who you were then, and I want who you are now Syd."  
  
"You're taking an unnecessary risk... You're moving hundreds of miles from home Vaughn, your friends... What about Alex?"  
  
"She's happy in Arizona," he explained. "I'm the handler, remember?" he teased, lightly kissing her ear. "I've covered all my bases Syd."  
  
"When are you coming?"  
  
"After the first of the year," Vaughn answered. "The school's giving me an on-campus apartment until I can get settled in."  
  
When Sydney nodded again, her eyes fell regretfully on the clock. "I need to go."  
  
"I know," he recalled. Regretfully, his arm unwrapped around her as he slumped over onto his back. The pillows propped his head up as his eyes trailed her. In the early light of the Christmas Eve sun Sydney slowly stood, locating her clothes and slowly dressing. Briefly she toyed with the idea of taking his shirt but decided against it, aware that chances were her daughter would see it and she was not yet ready for that explanation. Once she was fully clothed, she sat back down on the edge of the bed, their eyes meeting again.  
  
"I'll call you?" she suggested, one hand placed on his chest as he nodded. They leaned in, lips brushing for a second; Vaughn aware that if he tasted anymore there was no way he'd let her out the door. With one last smile in his direction, she grabbed her keys and purse and disappeared out his bedroom door.  
  
The rental car's clock read just after seven thirty in the morning when the car pulled into Will's driveway. Sydney grabbed her guest key off of her ring as she approached Will's front door, mindful not to wake him. With a quick glance at her watch, she wondered when she could expect Claire as her wrist flicked the keys into the lock and opened the door.  
  
"It's about time!" an angry voice huffed. Turning around, Sydney was surprised to see her daughter standing in the center of Will's living room.   
  
"Claire?"  
  
"Where the hell have you been!?" Claire stalked over to her. Judging by the red of her daughter's skin, she was uncertain if she'd been crying or was just that angry.   
  
"I thought you were spending the night with Laura," Sydney attempted to explain.  
  
"Her sister got sick so I left! Where were you?! I've been worried *sick*!" she snapped. "Apparently, Uncle Will doesn't seem to mind that you disappeared! Damnit Mom! I was scared! You couldn't have called me!?"  
  
Calmly she spoke, "You could have called my cell phone."  
  
"You conveniently left it here!" Claire bitterly retorted, pointing to the slender black object on Will's coffee table. "Damnit Mom! What the hell got into you?! Where were you? I was about fifteen minutes away from calling the cops! This is Christmas Eve Mom! We're supposed to be *together* and you just ditched me!"  
  
"I'm sorry. I visited with a friend and fell asleep on their sofa."  
  
"You couldn't have told me? Or Will? Jesus Mom! You don't just disappear like that! I don't know this city and I barely know anyone that lives in it! For all I knew you could have been dead on the side of the Pacific Highway! I was *scared* and you were nowhere to be found! Or did you conveniently forget I even *existed*!?"   
  
"I'm sorry Claire, I didn't mean to worry you -"  
  
"Just forget it," her daughter cut her off. "Just forget it. If you don't mind, I've been up all night, scared to death that you were hurt or in trouble!" she explained and started towards the guest room.   
  
"Claire, wait -"  
  
"No!" Claire hissed, her eyes blazing as she met her mother's. "You couldn't have called or *anything* Mom! Not a word! I was scared out of my *mind*! Just leave me alone," she decided, roughly climbing the stairs to the bedroom.   
  
Moments later, as Sydney positioned herself on the edge of the sofa, Will arrived in the living room.   
  
"What was that all about?"  
  
"I spent the night with Vaughn and she didn't know where I was," her voice cracked, unable to look at him as she gave her explanation.  
  
"I sort of figured that's where you were Syd," he assured her, carefully settling onto the sofa next to her.  
  
"Yeah," she sighed. "Well, Claire didn't."  
  
Gently, he placed a cautious hand on her back, drawing her brown eyes to his. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I will be," she sniffled, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "What am I doing Will?" she whispered.  
  
"You had to expect this Syd," Will returned with an equally low voice. "Claire... Until you started seeing Peter, she wasn't exactly used to sharing you."  
  
"I didn't think this would be a problem... What teenage girl wants their mother around to bug them?" she inquired. He all but rolled his eyes at her, silently reminding her that she already knew the answer.  
  
"Let's go Syd." He slowly stood. "I'll make you breakfast," he assured her, draping a friendly arm around her shoulder as they walked into his kitchen.  
  
Whatever Claire was doing in the guest room that had always been hers, she had made it obvious throughout the morning that she had no desire to see her mother. Will wondered if she'd even left the room to use the bathroom. Holing herself up there, he watched his best friend struggle with her emotions as the noise echoing from Claire's room alternated between angry music and eerie silence. All Will could do was keep Sydney busy. He enlisted his friend's help in wrapping the rest of the presents, working on various odds and ends, and talk optimistically about the upcoming events, including her expected visits with Dixon and the Flinkman's.  
  
Noon arrived as Sydney sat in his kitchen, eating a tasteless sandwich. For hours he'd struggled to amuse her with mindless conversation, hoping to snap her out of the emotions that were running wild through her blood. Will was debating, mostly to himself, light green lettuce versus the taste of darker lettuce when the doorbell rang.   
  
"Were you expecting someone?" Sydney asked, absently brushing hair off her face as he stood.  
  
"No." His face pinched in confusion. Quickly wiping her hands on her napkin, Sydney stood and followed him to the front foyer of the house. A few feet behind him, she watched curiously as he opened the door, coming face to face with a weary UPS worker. "Can I help you?"  
  
"I have a package for Ms. Sydney Bristow?" he inquired. Will glanced curiously at his best friend over his shoulder, then moved out of the way. Keeping her curiosity to herself, she signed for the package and thanked the man, who handed her a brown packaged box similar in size and shape to a shoebox.  
  
A former reporter, he'd never completely outgrown his curious nature, and Will trailed Sydney back into the living room. With her brown eyes still glued to the package, she sat down on the sofa as he joined her. "Who's it from?"  
  
"I don't know," she softly replied, her focus obviously on the package that she slowly opened. Efficiently, she made quick work of the brown packaging, then used a key Will offered her to tear through the tape holding the brown box together. Both were so wrapped up in curiosity that neither noticed the light footfall descending the staircase. Cautiously Sydney pulled out the object, still hidden in a mass of white tissue paper. The man next to her impatiently tossed the box and wrapping off to the floor as she set the object on her lap, slowly unwrapping it.  
  
Claire took the moment to step fully into the room, emerging from where she had hidden herself in the corner. "What is it?" she questioned, her mother unable to look up at her.  
  
The need to carefully wrap the item now made perfect sense to both adults. Nestled snugly in Sydney's lap was something she had long ago forgotten; something she had assumed had been lost or simply tossed during the days of her death. The silver frame was in the same condition it had been when he'd nervously given it to her nearly a quarter of a century ago. Most remarkable of all was the photo that was carefully encased in the glass. Despite the passage of time, she clearly remembered the day when she sat down and placed that picture in it. The two of them were smiling easily at one another and the photographer, who she recalled being Weiss. Their faces were equally wind blown as they stood outside the Staples Centre at the end of a Kings game. Sydney's chin rested on his shoulder as he carried her piggyback style after she had feigned exhaustion, the duo sharing an easy banter on that night. Two weeks after the meaningful night, a white envelope appeared on her desk, with that picture inside it.  
  
Their very first picture together. It had been only appropriate to place it in the frame.  
  
That's exactly where it remained, twenty-four years later.   
  
As the tears built up in her mother's eyes, Claire walked further into the room, slowly approaching her mother. "Mom?"  
  
"Hey Syd," Will's voice croaked as she looked up at him. In his outstretched hand he held a tiny white envelope. "I found it in the box."  
  
For a moment, she just stared at the envelope before she finally accepted it. To Claire's surprise, her mother's hands began to shake as she tore open the envelope. Then she pulled out the small card, her eyes dancing quickly across the familiar scribble.  
  
If you don't like it, don't tell me. Merry Christmas.   
  
Whatever ill feelings Claire still harbored towards her mother's overnight disappearance was pushed aside for Christmas. There were gifts and twinkling Christmas lights, laughter, and far too much food. Marshall and Carrie Flinkman had them over for a late Christmas breakfast, and Sydney spent a few hours with Dixon Christmas afternoon, catching up with him. The aging man hadn't been shocked to hear of Agent Vaughn leaving the CIA, or that he had suddenly re-entered her life. Instead, his eyes seemed to twinkle with a secret, having predicted what seemed so impossible to Sydney.  
  
Sydney made no more attempts to explain her overnight foray to her daughter. Instead, it was obvious that her daughter had no interest in speaking about it, and even less interest in knowing where her mother had been. All of her energy was focused on enjoying herself, playing video games with her uncle, watching basketball and hockey on television, and occasionally sneaking away to call Bryce whenever she felt no one would notice. Sydney did, however, silently notice. She was a retired spy after all.  
  
Christmas had been a less jovial occasion for Vaughn. Christmas Eve he went through the routine of dinner with the Weiss'. Megan was eager to hear of his second career choice while Eric teased him, feigning joy that he was leaving, even though both men knew they'd miss the other. As always, there was extra food, plenty of leftovers sent home with him to help him survive the days to come. He slept in Christmas morning, rolling out of bed to see the last forty-five minutes of the parade. Alex called around noon, a brief phone call to wish him well and thank him for the presents. Vaughn was happy to see that his daughter enjoyed what he'd bought for her, but his heart was still heavy as he hung up the phone. The urge to call Sydney was strong, but he'd already determined that Christmas was a day for her and her daughter, and reluctantly returned to his packing.  
  
Vaughn spent the following few days at the rink, releasing his frustrations in a game of hockey. Weiss joined him in the afternoons, his children off to spend New Years Eve with his sister-in-law while his wife was out shopping, quietly returning all the gifts that she disliked. Still he was no fool, and told Vaughn with near certainty that he suspected his wife would bring back nearly half of what he had bought her.  
  
Saturday night, with Christmas a distant two day ago memory, he sagged into his apartment in sheer exhaustion. Silence all but bounced around the off-white walls as his knees gave out in front of his favorite lounge chair. His body ached from two days on the ice, but he enjoyed the time to spend with his favorite sport. Staring at the phone as Vaughn untied his shoelaces, he wondered if sheer willpower would make it ring. Nearly four days had past since he'd last spoken to Sydney, and while he knew her time with her daughter was understandably important, the passing of the days had gone by at a mind-numbing rate.  
  
Halfway through making a sandwich, he all but drove his butter knife straight into his wrist as the phone rang. Cursing his own foolishness, he dropped the knife to his plate and grabbed the phone.  
  
"Hello?" he questioned. Standing in his silent kitchen, the only sound he heard was of one of his neighbor's deafening music vibrating through the complex and an unrecognizable, stifled sob coming from his phone line. For the first time in a long time, he wished he'd purchased the telephone with caller identification. Patience quickly slipped away, the edge growing in his tone. "Hello?"  
  
"Daddy?" a soft, heartbreaking voice cracked through the chorus of tears.  
  
"Alex?" His brow tightened while his heart felt as though it had stopped. "Alex? Honey, is that you?"  
  
"Daddy," she cracked over the rarely used endearment. "Daddy, I need you. Can you please come?" she sniffled.   
  
"Yeah, sure honey, sure." He quickly started moving through his small apartment, his body on autopilot. "Sweetheart, what's going on? Are you all right? Are you hurt -"  
  
"It's Mom," Alex cut him off, her voice heavy with tears. "She's... She's really bad Daddy. The doctors..."  
  
"Hush," he soothed her. "Hush Alex. I'm going to get the next plane out. I'll be there as soon as I can," he promised. Vaughn struggled to recall the last time he had been addressed as Daddy, and could never remember any time when his daughter admitted to needing him. Even when she was sick as a little girl, in times of crisis or pain, she had wanted her mother. Now, as he stood with the opportunity to play his daughter's comforter, he wished the chance had never arrived.  
  
Before he could hang up he heard her whisper, "I love you."  
  
"Love you too honey," he promised, quickly dropping his cordless phone on the bed and rushing out of the apartment.  
  
Although his credit card would ache for months with the cost of his sudden trip east, he managed to land in Tuscan early the next morning. Using his federal credentials, pleased for once that the CIA had let him keep it as a retiring agent, he quickly cut through the red tape to rent a car. Jumping into an aged Toyota, he curved through the streets of Tuscan. Vaughn had only been there a handful of times, to the home in an exclusive suburb of the city that she had bought with Matt. He had known Matt before too, casually through various visits to Arizona. He'd grown up with Kate, been her high school sweetheart, and had been eager to take care of her after their divorce and her subsequent return home.  
  
Dawn was rising over the state on the last Sunday of the year while his car silently died in the home's driveway. The first time he'd seen the house he'd been struck of how vividly it reminded him of an old country villa in his native France. For weeks after they moved there, despite the chaos that the move had caused, Kate had spoken about it to him during their weekly telephone conversations. Climbing the stone steps, he recalled her mention that they were right on the edge of ten acres of state land, guaranteeing consistent privacy.   
  
The tall, blonde young woman who answered the door was barely recognizable as his daughter. Bags hung heavily under her round eyes, her usually fair skin colored from tears. The clothes she wore, gray sweats that he recognized as once belonging to his former wife, looked well worn, leaving him to suspect she hadn't changed in a few days. Then, most unpredictably of all, she eagerly went into his arms without any coaxing.  
  
"Daddy," she cried into his shoulder. Vaughn held his little girl tightly, allowing the tears to come again, soaking through his favorite Kings shirt. There was nothing appropriate to say in this situation. Telling her to calm down would have been futile, and he could make no promises that everything would be all right.   
  
When she finally pulled back, she stretched the fabric of her sweatshirt down over her fists and used the soft fabric to wipe her face. Swallowing nearly half a dozen times, she sniffled again and allowed him into the house. "She's up," Alex explained, leading him into a dim front foyer. Kate had spent months throwing herself into decorating the home he could never have afforded with things he couldn't even afford to look at. The results had been beautiful, and he had told her as much on multiple occasions. Kate may not have been many things, but she had a talented eye for detail, something he suspected stemmed from her years as a successful illustrator.  
  
"Alex, who's here?" a male voice asked, appearing from the kitchen. Michael instantly recognized Matt, the tall, well-aged man whose face was drawn out in a grief he understood. Kate was to Matt what Sydney was to him, and he thanked god that he never had to watch her suffer and die. Believing she was dead had been more than enough pain.   
  
"Michael."  
  
"Matt." Michael stepped forward, shaking the man's hand before they shared a hug. "How is she?" he asked, stepping back and kindly slapping the man's shoulder.  
  
"She's been asking for you," Matt explained. "Thank you for coming, I know it's a hectic time... It's important to her that you're here," his voice cracked, his eyes blinking rapidly to hold off his tears.   
  
"Whatever I can do," he promised.   
  
"Here..." He looked over his shoulder at a housekeeper who was hesitantly escaping from the shadows. "Mo will show you your room and then she'll take you to Kate's room."  
  
"I actually made some reservations -"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," he corrected. As he spoke, Matt brought his long hands up, dragging his fingers over his face, trying in vain to scrub away the residue of his tears.   
  
"Okay," he conceded and looked at his daughter.  
  
"Axie, why don't you go shower while your Dad's talking to your Mom? He'll be there when you get out," Matt softly suggested. Alex's eyes hesitated on her father, who silently nodded his agreement. "I'm going to get something to eat. Do you want anything Mike?"  
  
"No thanks," he assured them, silently following the housekeeper. Mo guided him through a series of hallways and rooms that composed the house, all decorated in the dark woods and warm colors that Kate had always loved so much. Once she showed him the guest room, all handsomely done in original antiques, she led him back down a small staircase into a master bedroom.  
  
"I'm not sure if she's sleeping," Mo softly explained, opening the door a crack, insuring that he was in before she respectfully disappeared.  
  
The nurse that had been checking the IV stand that rested on the floor next to Kate smiled at him and then vanished into the room he assumed to be the bathroom. At the sound of another entering, Kate slowly raised her head and smiled at him. Up and down her arms he swore he could see the blood and IV fluid swimming through her clearly visible blue veins. Once upon a time her hair had been full and shiny; now it rested limply on her thin frame, the skin of her forehead leaving her eyes looking almost inhumanly large. When they met, her eyes had sparkled, the color of a tropical sea; now they were dull and tired. Everything about her form silently screamed of ache, fatigue and illness. Except her smile. Somehow, it managed to still glow.  
  
"You made it," she smiled happily.   
  
"Where else would I be," Vaughn asked, dragging over the rocker that she had once used to lull Alex to sleep, and carefully slid into it. "Alex is taking a shower, she'll be here in a few minutes."  
  
"I didn't think I'd get to see you," her voice was low, barely a whisper as she struggled to speak.   
  
Vaughn's eyes dropped to where she had taken his hand and blinked away the tears. "Kate, you don't have to -"  
  
"I needed to talk to you Michael," she insisted. "It's important."  
  
"Don't worry about Alex," he promised, finally meeting her eyes, his voice hoarse as he absently shook his head. "I'll take care of her."  
  
Kate slowly smiled. "You're a good father, when she lets you be," she reassured. "Matt will take care of her too. We talked about it. She can stay here as long as she wants, he doesn't want her to leave... He's a good man, he loves her very much. Let him help you."  
  
"Of course," he softly promised. "Whatever Alex wants, we'll do it."  
  
"I know you will," she nodded. "Are you ready? For your big move?" she teased, her grin wide.  
  
"Kate -"  
  
"I know about Sydney," Kate stopped him. When his green eyes met hers, they were full of questions and confusion. "Meg told me. We spoke... a few days ago. I had to talk to her." She painfully shrugged a shoulder out of instinct. "She told me that Sydney's in Humboldt. She teaches there," she pointed out.   
  
Still holding his hand, her years of experience with him helped her recognize his subtle squirming at the topic. A woman she'd never met, Kate clearly remembered the way Michael had been when she'd met him. Remembered the man who'd been called suddenly to Hong Kong five months into their marriage. How she'd been married to a man who'd been prepared to identify a body, not bring back a living, breathing, breaking person. "You took the job because of her."  
  
"I would have left the agency anyway," he softly insisted.  
  
Kate smiled. "You probably would have," she agreed. "I'm not worried about Alex, Michael... I am..." she quickly amended with a slight shake of her head, "I am worried she'll mourn too long, that she'll be sad when she should be happy - when she graduates, when she gets married, has her children... Sad because I won't be there," she sighed. "I know she'll do well though. She'll graduate, go to medical school..."  
  
"Make you proud."  
  
"She always makes me proud." She blinked rapidly, tears slowly dripping down her thin face. "She'll have Matt, and she'll have you... I don't worry about her as much as I worry about the two of you."  
  
At her confession, Michael couldn't help but let a chuckle escape. "Matt and I will be fine."  
  
Her face was sober as she looked at him. "The two of you can't live just for Alex. In a few years, she'll be an adult, she'll graduate... You two will be there for her, you'll take care of her, but don't forget about yourselves. Do this job if it makes you happy; be with Sydney if it makes you happy. I don't know her, but she must be a remarkable woman."  
  
"She is," he chuckled.  
  
"Then don't be an ass," she commanded as he laughed. "I'm serious Michael. Don't be an ass. And don't let Matt either. Give him some time, but promise me you won't let him stop living. The three of you need to take care of each other now. Promise me."  
  
"We won't do it as well as you do," he teased. "We'll do our best Kate."   
  
"I love you Michael." She blinked away more tears.   
  
Leaning over, he took her small hand in both of his, mindful of the IV's running into her blood, and gently kissed it. Tilting his head up, he gave her the tiniest of grins. "I love you too."  
  
"I don't regret it," she sighed. Michael watched her eyes slide shut, her smile peaceful as she rested her head on her pillow. After a moment, she turned to rest her cheek on the cool pillowcase, her eyes slowly opening. "I know it wasn't perfect... And we certainly fucked up."  
  
"Yeah, we did," he laughed.  
  
"I don't regret marrying you though."  
  
"Neither do I," he promised. As the words escaped him, he knew them to be the truth. Perhaps it would have been everything he had ever wanted to have married Sydney in his thirties; to have had children with her. Then again, he never would have had Alex, she never would have given birth to Claire. In the end, as painful as the solution was, perhaps their marriage was mandatory. Maybe their time together was what led her back to Matt, and eventually showed him his way back to Sydney.  
  
Sitting back, he kept his hand in hers, a long-ago Sarah McLachlan song softly escaping her bedside radio. Sighing heavily, he allowed his body to mold against the aged rocker. Then his eyes settled on to her, watching her struggle to get comfortable and sleep before Matt and Alex rejoined them.  
  
The Bristow girls left Los Angeles Sunday morning. They stayed long enough that morning to have a late breakfast with Will, Dixon and the Flinkman's, all of who awed at how big and grown up Claire had become. Having all of her friends together was a wonderful way for Sydney to leave Los Angeles. In the end, it was Will who took them to the airport for their noon flight, making sure that Claire had enough books and crossword puzzles for the flight and hugging both of them tightly. With his wife gone and likely no children in his future, Sydney and Claire remained his family, in all reality, the closest thing he'd ever have to his own girls.  
  
Claire promised to e-mail her Uncle soon with a thorough profile of Bryce, and he promised to make it to the Cardinal's first field hockey game of the season. As Claire boarded the flight, Sydney tightly hugged her best friend goodbye. As much as she looked forward to seeing her parents again, saying goodbye to Will was always difficult. They would speak again soon, and there was a chance she'd come down during March spring break so they could have a belated celebration of his birthday. Until then they would get by on e-mail and phone calls, each wrapped up in their respective occupations.   
  
Flying from Los Angeles, Sydney scheduled them for a two-hour stop in Denver. The afternoon stop was just long enough for the pair to have an early dinner and for Claire to learn the score of the Kings afternoon game, courtesy of a television in one of the airport shops. Briefly Claire slipped away outside, snapping a few pictures of the newly fallen snow. Trinidad had a mild climate, but it rarely snowed, leaving Sydney to intentionally schedule stops during the Christmas holiday where heavy snow would be on the ground. Occasionally it had back fired in the past, leaving them stranded in a city for a few extra hours; once even for two days when Claire was seven, but it was enough to see her daughter have the chance to enjoy snow.  
  
The sun had all but disappeared when they arrived in Seattle. Claire took the opportunity to check the time on her new watch, pointing out that it was just after eight. Arranging for a car was something her father had done in advance, arranging it so that they had no problems arriving at the safe house. The house was an hour drive from the airport, depending on traffic, located in a tiny suburb of Kitsap County right on Puget Sound.   
  
Exhausted from a day of primarily flying, Claire curled up in the passenger's seat, for once, allowing her mother control of the radio. John Mayer served as her daughter's soft lullaby as Sydney drove the highway and side streets towards her parents' house, a thought that after twenty years, still left her in awe.  
  
The house, built just a few short years before the CIA bought it and furnished it into a safehouse, always prompted Sydney to feel as though it belonged in the middle of farm country. Painted light blue, it was reminiscent of a farmhouse that had been added on. The porch was massive, extending a few feet past the length of the house and offering a perfect place for her mother to hang a few flower plants. Inside, the house was no less attractive. The two extra bedrooms had been long ago been decorated to fit each Sydney's and Claire's tastes. The remaining bedroom, the master suite, was shared by the home's two occupants, in a situation that still managed to baffle their only child. There were walk in closets, plush carpeting, a deck in the back, along with the two car garage that Sydney's car came to a stop in front of.  
  
"Hmm," Claire croaked, her eyes slowly blinking open. "We here?" she asked groggily.  
  
"Rise and shine sweetheart," Sydney smiled as she opened her car door.   
  
"I'm pooped," she sighed, slowly getting out of the car.  
  
"I thought you wanted to make Koliadki with Grandma, show her that you know how to do it," Sydney questioned, using her keys to unlock the truck as they retrieved their luggage.  
  
"Sydney? Claire?" a familiar female voice called. Looking up, she watched her mother step out onto the front porch, the light illuminating the few highlights of gray in her hair. As the signs of age started to appear on her own head, Sydney had made a decision not to color her hair, at least not yet. The way it currently stood, the occasional hint of gray in her hair resembled highlights more than actual gray. Her mother, however, had been dying her hair on a regular basis for years. As a result she barely looked older than Sydney.  
  
Claire's face glowed in the darkness, forgetting her luggage as she quickly made the distance to her grandmother. "Naunua!! I missed you!" she declared, freely wrapping her grandmother in a hug. In some ways Sydney envied the relationship her daughter had with her parents, free of betrayal or disappointment. Claire loved her grandfather, liked nothing more than making him proud, and her feelings towards her grandmother were nothing short of adoration.  
  
"Oh, you're so beautiful!" Irina smiled brightly as she pulled back to inspect her daughter.  
  
Standing on the front porch, with one arm around her granddaughter, while the other ran over her granddaughter's hair, she looked more like the mother Sydney remembered and less like the spy she knew Irina had once been. Nowadays her mother dressed in long, flowing skirts and neatly tucked in shirts, or pants pressed and comfortably fitted. With the stories she told of her childhood and old myths from her home country, along with her knack for desserts, she was nothing short of a picturesque grandmother. And unlike Sydney, Claire had never seen that image crack.  
  
Grabbing the duffels, tossing one over her shoulder and carrying the others, Sydney slammed the trunk. As she approached the front porch, she listened as their conversation continued.   
  
"I wanted to bring some Kaliadki - I can make it now!" she eagerly informed her grandmother. "Mom said that it would have gone bad if I made it before we left for L.A."  
  
"Your mother's probably right," Irina agreed. "We can make it tomorrow if you'd like though."  
  
"Really?"  
  
A throaty sound escaped her throat, nearly more melodic than a laugh. "Yes, really. What would New Years Eve be without Kaliadki?"  
  
"Good point," Claire grinned.  
  
"Now go inside," she urged. "Your grandfather's waiting, along with some Sbiten and cake."  
  
"Is the Sbiten still warm?"  
  
"It hasn't been off the stove for more than three minutes," she agreed, as Claire disappeared into the house.  
  
"I hope you didn't put too much sugar in it or she'll be up all night," Sydney spoke, smiling at her mother as she climbed the staircase.  
  
"Just a little," Irina assured her. Then she grabbed a duffel and proceeded to pull her daughter into a hug. "You're happy."  
  
"Of course," Sydney laughed, standing less than a foot from her mother. "It's Christmastime Mom, why wouldn't I be happy?"  
  
"No, it's more than holiday cheer," she noted with a close eye.   
  
"What's going on?"  
  
Chuckling, she slowly grinned. "Nothing."  
  
"Okay," she conceded, although obviously skeptical. "Would you like some Sbiten too?" she asked, accompanying her daughter into the home. The traditional Russian drink usually greeted them when they arrived in Washington for the holiday season. A combination of herbs, spices, honey, sugar and jam, it was the Russian national winter beverage, a sugar high so fantastic that it ranked among Claire's favorites.  
  
"Just a little," Sydney agreed. A few steps into the house, they paused to allow Sydney to take off her shoes, slipping into the slippers that her mother kept for her. The tradition was one that she had been used to as a little girl, and only now as an adult did she recognize it as a truly Russian custom. "I'm going to check my voicemail and I'll be right into the kitchen."  
  
"Take your time," Irina urged, resting the luggage in the living room. "I'm going to go catch up with my granddaughter," she smiled widely, disappearing into the adjacent kitchen.  
  
Sighing, she dug her cell phone out of the corner of her suitcase. Through the house walls she vaguely heard her father's voice, unable to make out the conversation but detecting the laughter. Impatiently she accessed her voicemail, pressing in the correct code to her box. Irrational excitement pressed through her veins as an electronic voice told her she had one new message. The passage of time, and the advancement of technology could do nothing to take away the human surge of adrenaline that something as mundane as a new voicemail or letter sent through the U.S. Postal Service brought on.  
  
"One new message. Message one,"  
  
At first, she wondered if it was a crank call as nothing but static rung in her ears. Finally, moments before Sydney was about to hang up, the message started.   
  
"I loved you once," a teary voice slipped through the static reception. "This might be presumptuous or obvious Syd, but I think I still do... Kate's dead..."  
  
The message ended there. Slowly she pressed off on the phone, forgetting whether she bothered to delete the message or not. Then, as the laughter of her immediate family bounced in from the other room, she slumped down onto the sofa and cried. 


	9. Chapter 8

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
Authors Note: Special thank you to Dae. Thank you so much for stepping in as my beta, I really enjoyed reading your comments & ideas, etc.   
  
Dedication: To everyone who survived the series opener without wanting to cry . . .   
  
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They buried Kate on a rainy Wednesday, the last day of the year. The rain fell slow and steady, plump drops of moisture that stained their dark attire. Michael stood in between his daughter and the man his former wife had been so intent on starting over with. Standing in the cemetery, surrounded by people he barely knew, his daughter clung to his hand and fought back her sobs. All around her stood friends and family desperate to try to help her, cousins and friends from high school and college who had come to support her. Yet she stood there, unwilling to move too far from her father's side, as he struggled to offer her the solace she so desperately needed.  
  
The group returned to the house for a small reception. For two hours Vaughn found himself stuck in the current of the party. Guests clamored to talk to him, to try to give their condolences to his daughter via him. The food the caterers had provided was steadily disappearing, and the flowers that had been purchased for the funeral had already been sent to local hospitals. All the while, as he choked down a plate of food and made small talk with people he barely remembered, he tried unsuccessfully to find his daughter.  
  
Climbing the staircase, having finally snuck away from the slowly dwindling crowd, his ears were met by the familiar sound of an aged Stevie Nicks tune. Vaughn instantly recognized it as one of Kate's CD's, and followed his ears not to the room of his former wife but to that of his daughter's. Cautiously he cracked the door open, his relief momentary when he saw that his daughter was in her room. The pain reappeared just as quickly when he sat her sitting on the edge of her bed, her body violently shaking with tears.  
  
"Go away," she called as she heard her door open.  
  
"It's me sweetheart," Vaughn struggled to keep his voice calm as he sat down next to her. "Alex? Sweetheart?"  
  
"Daddy," she gulped for breathe. The scene before him, the red eyes, tear-stained face and the hiccups that began to escape her reminded him of the stubborn little girl who would cry so violently that she'd end up sick.   
  
"Take a deep breath," he soothed, reaching out to brush the hair away from her sweaty face. "Your going to make yourself sick Alex, so take a deep breath," he ordered.  
  
Alex continued to shake her head, nevertheless following her father's orders as her door once again opened. Only a moment later Matt stepped inside, his own blue eyes echoing empty shades of gray and his suit, once crisp and neat that morning, showing the signs of wear. "Are you okay?"   
  
"Go away," she snapped at him, wiping her eyes with the balls of her hands. Then she reached over and turned up the volume on her CD player, the only sound detectable over the music was her loud struggle for breath.   
  
Matt took another step into the room, slowly approaching his stepdaughter. In that moment Vaughn felt his sympathy go out to the man, trying to mourn the woman he lost while caring for the child who ultimately wasn't even his. "Please turn down the music and talk to me Axie," he plead.  
  
Her blonde hair, once neatly set in a French braid on her head, now puffed around her head in a halo of unruly locks. The braid her father had so carefully watched her create that morning was barely recognizable, and she had locked herself into her room, changing from her simple linen dress to an all black ensemble of t-shirt, shorts and slippers. At his innocent slip of her nickname, Alex turned towards Matt with angry eyes. "Don't call me Axie!" she demanded. "Just get out! Please!" For a moment her stepfather looked at in her in terror. Then he swallowed and nodded slowly, turning around and leaving the room. As her father stood to join him, she softly called out his name, wanting him to stay.   
  
The two men studied one another for a second before Matt nodded and disappeared. Not wanting to further upset his daughter, Vaughn slowly rejoined her on the bed, surprised when she reached out for his hand. More surprisingly, her body had slowly stopped trembling as her voice neared it's normal sound. "Mommy called me Axie."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I don't want anyone to call me that anymore."  
  
Although he nodded, his daughter hadn't turned her eyes on him. "They won't."  
  
"Mom," she sniffled over the single syllable, her eyes glassy as they met his. "Mom and I talked about it. I'm not going back to school . . . Not yet anyway," she shook her head. To his confusion she stood for a moment before settling back on her bed, this time her feet tucked safely underneath her. "Mom and I agreed that I should take a leave of absence . . It was a last minute decision, but she agreed," Alex shrugged. "I just . . I can't go back right now," she struggled to explain.  
  
"That's fine sweetheart, I think it's a good idea, especially if it's what your Mom wanted," he assured her, dropping her hand to rest his arm around her shoulders. Instinctively she cuddled close to his side as he wished he could hold her tight enough to bar out the painful reality of the world, just as he'd been able to do when she was a little girl.   
  
"Mom . . Aunt Megan told Mom that they have a biology and chemistry department at that college your going to."  
  
Vaughn nodded, kissing the top of her head, "they do."   
  
"Mom said I might want to go there," she hiccupped, still struggling to regain her breath and what little composure that could be expected. "I don't know . . " she sniffled, the tears welling again. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet Daddy."  
  
"You don't have to decide now Alex," he promised her. "You don't need to decide now. There's time. Whatever you want to do, Matt and I will help and support you."  
  
"I hate not knowing."  
  
"There's no need to rush this sweetheart," he reminded her.  
  
"I just," she gasped for breath, beginning to tremble again. "I don't want to let Mommy down," she confessed, burying her face into the wrinkled cotton of her father's dress shirt.  
  
"Oh, sweetie," he sighed, holding her close. Softly he murmured incoherent nothings, struggling for the impossible words to rectify an impossible situation. There was nothing he could do or say to make this easier on her, but he did the only thing he could, holding her as she cried, doing his best to understand the words that escaped in between her sobs. Unaware and uncaring of the time that past, he remained silent until she finally pulled back. Slowly she wiped the tears from her eyes, pulling another tissue from the box that she kept by her bedside. Helpless, Vaughn could do nothing but watch her struggle to calm down before her puffy, bloodshot eyes turned to him.  
  
"Mom told me," she explained, pausing to blow her nose. "Before . . Before Christmas, Mom told me about her. This woman you've been seeing," she shook her head, taking her eyes from his. "Mom says that she's really smart, and nice, and that she's a good person . . . I think she was trying to make it easier for you," she briefly chuckled, wiping the corners of her eyes. "She says you'll probably marry her."   
  
"Alex -"  
  
"Mom made me promise to give her a chance," Alex stopped him, her eyes awake for the first time since his arrival, although her grief was still visible in every crack. "Mom made me promise to be nice and to give her a chance and to not give you a hard time, because," she stopped as her face crumbled. For a few long moments she cried, roping in her sniffles and her sobs, shaking her head as he tried to comfort her. "I'm fine," she muttered before she continued. "Because your not doing this to make things harder on me . . I'm sure she's a nice person Daddy, I'm sure, but . . I don't think I'm ready to meet anyone yet. Especially . . Especially your girlfriend."  
  
"Sweetheart," he sighed and pulled her back into his arms. "You don't have to meet her yet," he promised, feeling her tears dampen his already drenched shirt. "You don't have to meet her any sooner than your ready for," he vowed. "We'll do this at your pace. If you want to come visit me and look at the school, we can do that when you're ready. If you want to stay here and go to Arizona, that's fine too. Whatever you want sweetie, there's plenty of time for you to decide," Vaughn assured her, his voice barely heard over her heart breaking tears.  
  
"I'm . . I'm so scared," she confessed. "I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do? She took care of everything, I don't know . ."  
  
"I'm scared too," he assured her, pulling back only for a second to pull the hair off of her sticky skin. "I'm so scared too sweetheart, but we'll figure this out. You are being so smart and so brave . . And no matter what you do, your Mom is *so* proud of you. We both are. We love you, and we'll both always love you, no matter where any of us are."  
  
"I want her here!" she demanded angrily. "How come she just gave up? How come she left me Daddy? Wasn't I worth sticking around for? How could she just leave?!" she snapped between her tears. The anger rose in her as she pulled away from her father, ripping a pillow from the neat pile on her bed and hurdling it to the floor. "How could she just leave . . . " she repeated, her voice small. "Why did she leave me?!" she demanded, grabbing a stuffed animal and tossing it even farther. "Damn her! Damn her!! I hate her! God, I hate her for leaving me!" she snapped, crashing down onto the bed. "I just hate her so much!" she insisted, slamming her pillow against her mattress before she started to cry. "I miss her," Alex confessed, burying her head into her abused pillow. "I miss her so much Daddy . . I didn't want her to go . . I wanted her to get better . . . . I just wanted her to stay," she conceded, sobbing into her pillow.  
  
"I know sweetheart," he wiped the tears from his eyes and ran his hand up and down her back. "I know."  
  
A few hundred miles northwest of Tucson, the safehouse on Puget Sound was celebrating the most festive day of the year. Now free to be herself, Irina Derevko had returned to her Russian roots, and had instilled a belief in her granddaughter that New Years Eve & New Years Day were the most important days of the year. It was a custom that had been taught to her as a child when her family had been unable to practice Christmas legally. There was lots of food, customary Russian dishes and the preparation for Ded Moroz. Grandfather Frost, a man who bore an eerie resemblance to Santa except he wore blue, was a tradition that Jack and Irina had insisted on maintaining although their granddaughter was years past believing in Santa Claus. Claire spent the day in the kitchen making Koliadki with her grandmother, filling the treats with a variety of different fillings. Together they worked throughout the kitchen, singing the old Russian carols that Claire had known and loved since youth as Irina shared some of the more acceptable tales of her childhood.  
  
Laughing at the sight, Jack Bristow complied as his wife shooed him out of the kitchen as his granddaughter agreed. Stepping into the living room, his smile faded as his eyes fell onto his only daughter. Although Sydney had smiled and helped with the festivities earlier, it was obvious to see something was bothering her. There she sat in the noiseless living room, so wrapped up with staring at the newspaper in her lap that she didn't even hear him enter.  
  
"Sydney," he sighed and lowered himself onto the sofa next to her. "Are you alright?"   
  
Glancing up at him, she smiled, "I'm fine."  
  
Nodding, Jack looked over her shoulder. That morning his daughter had taken the obituaries of the newspaper and was staring at a large article about the death of cartoon artist Katherine Reeve. Jack looked back at his daughter's profile, her eyes once again reading the article. "How's Agent Vaughn?"  
  
"I don't know," she conceded, her shoulders low and her eyes remaining on the article. "He's with Alex . . I can't bother him now . . . . I wouldn't know what to say anyway."  
  
"Do you intend on avoiding Vaughn now?"  
  
"She was only fifty-five."  
  
"Yes," Jack nodded. "Ms. Reeve was relatively young."  
  
"I didn't even realize this, but she won the Reuben Award a few years ago," Sydney explained, looking at Jack. "It's the highest honor in comic art."  
  
"She lived a successful, happy life."\  
  
"I'm trying to imagine what Alexandra must be feeling . . . . I guess I can, to a certain extent . . . But she's older, she'll remember it better . . . She's watched her mother suffer for so long . . "  
  
"There is no solution to this Sydney, and Mr. Vaughn and his daughter will have to do the best they can."  
  
Turning towards him, Sydney softly reminded, "they're not us Dad."  
  
"Mr. Vaughn is an intelligent man. His daughter is, in her own right, a young woman. They will do fine," he assured her. Jack was right, and Sydney knew as much. They would do fine because they had no other option, other than to let it eat them alive.  
  
"I don't know how to help them."  
  
"If you recall Sydney," he slowly stood and then kept his eyes on her. "There were times when Mr. Vaughn helped you the most by not saying anything at all," he reminded her, his lips twitching slightly as he rejoined the others in the kitchen.  
  
Classes were to begin at Humboldt two weeks and one day after they buried Kate. Vaughn remained in Tucson for as long as his daughter let him. He made sure guests, family and friends who had flown in for the services made it safely home, ensured that the headstone would be properly placed and engraved, that the funeral home had been paid and that the attorney was aware of her will. In short he struggled to do everything he wished someone had done for him when Sydney had been dead.\par   
  
Matt would have let him stay as long as he wanted, seeing no problem with Michael temporarily taking over the guest room. Sometimes the older man suspected Matt even liked him being there. Understandably still soaked in his grief over Kate and his concern for Alex, he was relieved to walk into his kitchen every morning to a meager yet warm breakfast, to be reassured that the tiny details that no one could expect him to remember had been cared for. For two days the men went about their business alone, Alex only coming out to use the bathroom. Steadily she began to make her presence known in the house. She'd come out for a meal or to escape to the movies, or sit in the living room and read the paper with the two men as companions. Alex would rarely initiate the conversation, but she could manage to hold her half of a brief conversation without bursting into tears. Then, on the ninth morning of the month, a Friday six days before he began his tenure at Humboldt, his daughter told him it was okay to leave.  
  
There had been protests and assurances on his part that it was no trouble to stay. Although his grief was no near as heavy as theirs, it still existed and he was well aware that misery *did* love company. Matt was returning to work Monday, Michael suspected more out of a desire to escape her memory then an actual readiness to return to his job. The company could run well without him, but at that point the escape was mandatory.   
  
Eventually Michael agreed to leave. Deep inside he suspected his daughter wanted to be alone, wanted to be the only one in the large house when she went through her mother's massive closet and the years and years of knickknacks and memories that mother and daughter had collected together. That she wouldn't want to see anyone again see her collapse to tears or damn the woman she obviously missed so desperately. Even so Alex's argument had been logical, it had been over a week since they buried her, he was starting a new job in less than a week. Kate would want him to get his ass back out there.  
  
Eric in a rare moment of brilliance had enlisted his wife and Carrie's assistance in the beginning steps of packing up Vaughn's modest home. Over half of his home was in boxes when he arrived home Friday night. Entering the eerily bare home, he made a brief phone call to Arizona, briefly talking to Alex, encouraged to hear that she was going to go bowling with Matt. Any escape, any cause to get her out of the house, was positive in his mind. Kate wouldn't want her life to end, wouldn't allow the grief to consume their little girl, and he made it his personal mission to see that it never did.  
  
Saturday Megan insisted on making him a massive lunch, sighing when he entered the house and scolding him for how haggard he'd grown. Alone Eric had inquired on how he was, while Megan's main concern had been her goddaughter. Upon hearing that Alex might transfer out of Arizona, she made the offer that if she decided to study at a school in Los Angeles; she was always more than welcome to stay at their home. Any time she was in the area she was welcome to visit, and Michael thanked her for the beautiful floral arrangement that they had sent, unable to get away or pay for the flight east to attend the services. Unofficial moving day was Sunday, a few short days before his new life was scheduled to begin. Most of his life would remain in boxes in temporary in storage in Los Angeles until he found a house to settle into. Instead he took the mandatory things in suitcases and duffels, the Weiss' seeing him off at the house that he'd bought with a young, vibrant cartoon artist twenty years ago, the home that he'd measured his daughter's steady growth, taught her how to play catch and the beauty of hockey before her childhood seemed to vanish overnight and they were left alone in the house, watching her embark on her first date. Standing in the driveway, he wondered how it all happened so suddenly and yet how during moments of your life the passage of time was immeasurably painful. Mindful of his friends, he was determined to focus on them and the life he was beginning and not what he was saying goodbye to. Megan allowed the tears to shine in her eyes, hugging him tightly and making him promise not to forget them. Once she was assured that he would not easily forget his closest friends, he hugged his long-time friend goodbye, both men too proud to let the tears show.  
  
The car arrived in Arcata late in the evening. There had been a part of him, a piece of that hopeful little boy who had never completely died, that had imagined Sydney being at the faculty apartment for him when he arrived. Her presence wouldn't have made his grief any less palpable, and she couldn't be expected to eradicate the weight of his regrets. So alone in the meager apartment he called for take out, briefly recalling Will's off-handed mention of the best Chinese place in northern California, and began to unpack his belongings with a new appreciation for the furniture the school provided him. The place wasn't much, one bedroom, a kitchenette and tiny dining area, but it was only until May, when school would end and he'd be free to move elsewhere.  
  
Monday morning the Bristow house was eerily quiet. From her desk in the family room Sydney swore she could hear the cats purr as all three curled up on the living room sofa. Since Claire's departure nearly a week ago, she'd managed to stay busy. The previous evening Georgia had called her in near tears, arriving on her back stoop less than two minutes later. Sipping coffee, watching Gehrig walk a patient, curious lap around the back yard, she listened to her friend relay the story of Peter's expected question. To Georgia, however, the question had been anything but expected. The two sat on the steps as Sydney listened to her friend and then promised her that Rick wouldn't want her to be miserable, that there was no shame in going out with Peter. Especially since it was nothing fancy, just a play at the theatre in Arcata the following weekend. She had promised her friend that she was certain that wherever Rick was, he was happy to see her happy.  
  
Alone in the house, Sydney smiled as she pulled out the pictures of their holiday journeys. Whatever emotions she felt regarding Kate's death had been pushed aside in time to enjoy New Years with her family. Claire's Koliadki was fantastic, and Irina had insisted it was better than her own, as they drank Sbiten and opened gifts from Ded Moroz. As wonderful as the experience was, Sydney always found herself pausing to study whatever photos she'd take in Washington, doing her best to reassure herself that it was real. That her mind wasn't playing tricks on her if she saw her parents in the same snapshot, laughing, or to promise herself that the smile on her father's face was as genuine as the nearly undetectable spark of joy in his eyes. Whatever mistakes they had made with her, whatever sins they had imprinted upon the other's soul, all was forgiven and corrected in Claire's eyes.  
  
Unused to sending Claire off so soon after their arrival home, they had barely made it in time to do what they had to. The roughly forty-six hours they had spent together in Trinidad had been chaotic. Massive quantities of laundry were done as they repacked her for her travels, preparing her for the upcoming start of the spring semester. They made sure she had clean sheets to bring, and took nearly half a dozen trips to the drug store to pick up the various odds and ends that the two kept remembering. Then she stood in the driveway again, hugging her little girl and making her promise to drive safe and to call her, no matter what time she arrived in Stanford. With a final wave, she watched the Jeep disappear out of the driveway, her Aunt Carrie's aged Joni Mitchell CD humming softly on the radio, leaving Sydney once again with her empty nest.  
  
The loneliness wasn't as painful as it had been earlier. Instead she was eagerly looking forward to the start of the new semester, and quickly tucked away her true motive. Plunging head first into her work, she kept busy putting final touches onto class plans, her syllabus and various other odds and ends. By Monday most of it was done, much to her amazement. Sitting at her desk, she mused the possibility of putting a copy of the photos into the photo albums, Gehrig howled as she heard someone tap loudly on the screen door to the front porch.  
  
Confused, having spent the last nearly twenty years greeting people at her back door, she hushed Gehrig and approached the door. Moments later her concern and confusion turned to relief and heartache. Vaughn stood uncomfortably on her front stoop, his hands in his jeans and his eyes on his shoes. Sydney opened the front door and then stepped onto the front porch, holding the door for him. When his head raised at the sound of the door creaking open, his reaction was one of surprise, leaving her to wonder how tired and torn he truly was. Without a word, she allowed him into the house, through the rarely used formal living room into the family room. Finally, as Gehrig howled for a moment and then settled back down onto the sofa after his mistresses command, Sydney turned fully towards him.  
  
"How's Alex?" she softly inquired.   
  
Vaughn pulled his eyes way from hers in a reaction so familiar that the punch reappeared in her gut after a blissful twenty year absence. Silently he let his eyes rest everywhere but on her, blinking away the tears. Allowing him this, her father's advice ringing in her ears, she considered that no response was appropriate. There was no appropriate way for a young girl who'd just lost her mother to behave, no play book on what to expect and when, and certainly no fast cure. If there was, Sydney would have gone out and bought it herself for the little girl who she could assume was in pieces.  
  
Just as suddenly his eyes were back on hers before they slid shut. Under the sanctuary of his eyelids, he swallowed painfully before they opened. Then Vaughn was in her arms, clinging to her as the tears began against her shoulder. Without hesitation she returned the gesture, her fingers running through his hair, allowing him the tears as she kissed his temple. "I'm sorry Syd," he pleaded, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "I'm so sorry . . . I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you, I'm sorry for hurting Kate . . I'm so sorry for getting all of us into this mess, for not knowing . . . For not knowing that you were still out there Syd. I'm so sorry," he sniffled, his trembling obvious to her as his larger body shook against hers. "I never meant to hurt you . . . I'm so sorry. I thought you were dead . . I swear I thought you were dead Syd, or I never would have . . . "   
  
"Shh," she soothed, her fingers rhythmically running through his hair, gently kisses against the side of his swollen face. "It's okay Vaughn, it's okay," Sydney promised. Standing there, holding him as he cried for her, for him, for Kate and most especially for Alex, she was too old for what if's and what might have been's. What mattered was then, that she was once again there for him and he there for her. That was the only thing that meant anything.  
  
Authors Note: Another thanks to Dae for such a quick return & for taking the time to beta this for me. I checked the Humboldt State website (all the dates here are from the Stanford & HSU websites, when applicable), and the spring semester starts on a Thursday. It says instruction begins that Monday, but I'm assuming that teachers have to do *something* when the semester starts, even before classes - right?! Also, HSU is in Arcata - Trinidad's a tiny village (pop. 400) that neighbors the college town, and it's where Sydney & Claire live. 


	10. Chapter 9

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
Authors Note: Special thank you to Dae. Thank you again for being so wonderful. Also, now thanks to you I FINALLY know what a Mary Sue is! (it was like asking my classmates where the college cafeteria was today - I hate asking things when everyone else seems to just know like it's common sense!) Also, I went back and acted on some of your suggestions, so I hope it meets your expectations!  
  
Dedication: To my Mom. Mind you, she'll never read this, but eighteen years ago she was preparing to give birth to yours truly, so the least she deserves is a dedication.   
  
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The first Sunday back in Stanford, Claire found herself sitting in the back pew of the Memorial Church on campus, shortly after four in the evening. In just a little while the weekly Catholic mass would begin, and for some reason she had found herself there although she'd never gone before. Somewhere deep in her subconscious she heard her Mother warning her not to dare change herself for any boy, although she swore that was not her intention. Instead she simply hoped to accidentally-on-purpose run into Bryce. The Cardinals had been on a brief road trip since she returned from Christmas break, and she was anticipating the earliest possible moment to see him again  
  
As the anxiety of her non-existent plan bubbled in her stomach, a familiar figure tossed her a warm smile as he slid into the pew next to her. Without a word she watched him collapse to his knees in silent prayer as Claire drew her eyes away from him. Being away from him for Christmas break had not been torture, but it wasn't until Bryce sat next to her once again that she realized just how much she'd missed him. One thing she admired about him was his constant sense of calm, and his ability to allow his calm to spill over into her blood. Without having even kissed him, she was relatively sure she was falling in love with him, although she heard her grandfather's subtle warning of just how young she was for such serious notions.\par  
  
\tab For an hour not a word was passed as they sat side by side in the pew. Following his cue, she trailed behind him to Eucharist, barely remembering the sacrament that she had first celebrated over a decade ago. Politely he waited for her to return to the pew, allowing her to return to her original seat that was theirs alone. At the end of the mass he stumbled for her hand on their way out the door. The skin of her cheeks burnt as she sent him a smile, allowing him to lead her to a nearby bench in a corner of the campus that was all but deserted on a Sunday evening.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked softly. When her head raised, her eyes shone confusion as he looked at her skeptically. "Something's bothering you. What's up?"  
  
"My mom . . ." Claire sighed, unable to look at him as she studied a few students walking along in the distance, so wrapped up in conversation that they failed to notice her attention. "When we were in Los Angeles, she disappeared over night. I came back from hanging out with Laura and she was just . . . Gone. Didn't get in until nearly seven thirty the next morning."  
  
"Did you call the police?"  
  
Her head shook as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture that was endearingly familiar to her companion. "My Uncle Will said not to yet, that she could handle herself . . . I know my mom thinks I'm stupid, that I don't know what's going on, but I know she spent the night with that man . . ."  
  
"What man?"  
  
"An old boyfriend," she dismissively shook her head. "Michael . . .Vaughn, I think," Claire shrugged. "I just . . . I hate the fact that she doesn't think I figured it out, that she wouldn't just tell me. She made up some bullshit story about falling asleep on a friend's sofa. I'm not five anymore," she looked at him. "I don't need to be protected."  
  
Bryce smiled sweetly, "she's your mom. She's always going to protect you."  
  
"Plus . . . Damn, did it have to be the day before Christmas Eve? It's not like we have all that much time to spend together anymore . . . It's not like we ever did," she added softly. "Mom has always tried," she emphasized as he silently nodded. "It was hard though. She had her classes, and that's a lot of work . . . Plus for a long time she was in school. Sometimes I'd just be happy to sit there while she did some work, that way I could at least be around her . . . There were times when I wanted to be alone, but sometimes I just wanted her to be around and she had to work or I had school or something . . . I get it. I do, I know how hard she's worked but . . . Sorry," she chuckled and shook her head. Claire glanced at him, meeting his green eyes. "I must sound pretty absurd."  
  
"Nah," he promised. "My dad travels a lot, to recruit and stuff, but my mom was always around. I've always had my sisters around to bother me, so I always had to share my parents," he teased.   
  
"I'm just not used to it," she conceded, looking down at her new sneakers. A gift from her grandmother, a woman who had insisted that a young girl who did as well as a goalie in her first season at Stanford as she did deserved the best footwear imaginable. Then her mother had piped in that it was just because her grandmother had a shoe fetish she wished to share with her granddaughter. Claire suspected the truth laid somewhere in between. Sighing, her brown eyes raised, a new shade of sadness, "I just thought I was always enough for her."  
  
"Hey," he dropped her hand, his arm around her to pull her close. "You are *so* enough for her, but your growing up. I mean you just left her all alone in that big house. She had to have a hobby."  
  
"Why couldn't she learn to knit?" Claire sighed, resting her head into the niche of his shoulder.  
  
Under her hear she heard his heart beating steadily and heard his warm body rumble. "Because," he answered once his laughter had subsided, "no one but my grandmother knits."  
  
Briefly her nose wrinkled, not imagining the grandmother she knew as the knitting type. Mindful of the lie she had maintained her entire life, she answered, "my grandmother used to sew my mom's Halloween costumes."  
  
Bryce lowered his head slightly, managing for his green eyes to lock with hers, "does this mean I don't get to meet your mother?"  
  
"No," she sighed and sat up fully. Leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, he traced his hand soothingly up and down her back, relieved to see the anger slowly draining from her tense frame. "Two week from yesterday, Mom's coming. She's going to get tickets. My Uncle Will or my grandfather might come too."\par  
  
\tab "Should I be scared?" he teased.  
  
"Maybe," she chuckled, looking away. "They're good guys. My Uncle Will is the greatest guy I've ever known, seriously," Claire explained. Quickly she turned towards him in curiosity, "how was Arizona?"  
  
"We went 2-0 against Arizona State and Arizona, although Tucson sucked. Some cartoonist died, she was a big celebrity there, and it was all over the news. I think every cartoon fan in the United States was in Tucson and our hotel."  
  
"Well, for the record I'm not at all surprised you won," she smiled.   
  
"So," Bryce grew sober as her eyes remained on his profile. "Have you even met this guy?"  
  
"No, thank god," she sighed. "I don't want to. Frankly, I don't want to think about it. I mean, my mom's totally entitled to a life, to her friends and her hobbies, but I don't want to think about anything else."  
  
"Didn't you like the guy she was dating?"  
  
"Peter," she grinned. "Yeah," Claire conceded, "but that was different. I knew him before she did. He was my Math teacher sophomore year . . . I even had a bit of a crush on him," she admitted, her cheeks burning. "Next to my uncle and my grandfather and my Uncle Rick, I think Peter is one of the best guys I've ever met."  
  
"Hey," he playfully nudged her. "What about me?"  
  
"Your obviously number one," she teased.   
  
"C'mon knucklehead," he slowly stood, grabbing her hand to prompt her to do the same. "Let's go get a bite to eat. My treat."  
  
  
  
"Good, I'm starving," Claire agreed, her hand tucked securely in his as they walked.  
  
The spring semester dawned at Humboldt State on a mild day in January. Sydney hadn't seen Vaughn since he arrived on her doorstep Monday afternoon. After that he'd been busy unpacking his old life and settling into the new one. Her life had gone on quite successfully without him, and she easily stayed busy. There were phone calls to Claire, meeting with new students and preparing course material. Academia always kept her busy, kept her mind running too hard to remember that her daughter was hundreds of miles away or that she was taking a massive risk by allowing herself to once again jump head first into a relationship with Vaughn. Not for the first time was she grateful for the hectic nature of her occupation.  
  
Five days passed before she saw him again. Late Friday evening found her on Humboldt's all-weather track, the reassuring pound of her feet hitting the track bouncing rhythmically to her ears. An hour earlier she'd been in her house, finishing her evening conversation with Claire. The slightly burnt microwave dinner that she had prepared herself quickly lost it's appeal, and after less than three bites had found its way to the floor, an unexpected treat for an eager Gehrig. After that it was just a quick change into her running clothes, grabbing her duffel and keys before heading out the door. Pulling the car out of the driveway, she waved at Peter as he pulled his car into Georgia's half of the driveway, prompt to pick her up for their first date.  
  
Thinking of Peter and Georgia, out on what was sure to be a slightly awkward first date, she thought back to Rick and Georgia. Once upon a time she had envied them greatly, although she wished no harm upon them. They were married for thirty years, happily, and she had rarely seen them fight. Rick's death had been unexpected and difficult on all of them, but Georgia had survived, just as her late husband would have wanted her to. The correlation between Rick and Georgia and her life twenty years earlier was obvious, although it wasn't until she was alone at night, either correcting papers or reading, that she allowed herself to think it. In the end they all knew Rick wouldn't be coming back, as painful as the reality was, and she knew that he'd want his best friend and his wife to be happy.  
  
Just as she wanted for Claire, and her parents, and Vaughn, even if Vaughn's happiness meant twenty years without her around. That was the trouble with loving someone. You could love them, but you couldn't control them, even if what made them happy left you absolutely miserable. The idea of Claire going to Humboldt was one she had dreamed of for ages, imagined her daughter even picking up an English major just as her mother and grandmother had, of being an active participant in her daughter's college years. Unfortunately her dream was not her daughter's dream, and she had to let her go, even if it meant her little girl was hundreds of miles away embarking on what was the most fantastic journey of her young life.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Sydney's feet stopped their frantic pace. Pausing for a moment to regain her breath, she looked over her shoulder and smiled at the sight. Vaughn slowly strolled over, looking as attractive as she could remember in his jeans and t-shirt. "It's Friday Syd, shouldn't you be home relaxing?"  
  
"I am relaxing," she grinned, softly thanking him for the towel he had grabbed off of her duffel. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I thought I'd look here before I ended up on your back stoop again," he smiled at her.  
  
"How was your first week?"  
  
"Well . . Considering Weiss warned me of every trick he played on his professors in college, I was well prepared," Vaughn answered, gracing her with a half smile.  
  
"Good," she nodded. "What are you doing next Saturday?"  
  
"I don't know, what am I doing next Saturday?" he returned the question. Sydney Bristow hadn't changed that much, and in his experience when she asked a question, she already had a plan.  
  
"Stanford's playing USC next Saturday, in the afternoon, at Stanford. I promised Claire . . . Bryce O'Neil, he's on the basketball team, they're good friends. I promised her I'd go to a game. I'll probably leave Friday after classes . . . I thought you might like to come. I'm supposed to meet Bryce. You could meet Claire."  
  
"Do you want me to meet Claire?" he carefully inquired.  
  
Sydney studied her soiled sneakers for a moment, wiping the sweat off of her face with the towel. Then she lifted her head, nodding slowly, "yeah," she replied as the smile slowly spread across her face. "I really would."  
  
"Sure," he smiled and nodded.   
  
"It won't be a problem . . . With Alex or anything?"  
  
"No," he shook his head. "No problem at all."  
  
"How is she doing?" she questioned as they began to slowly walk towards her half open duffel.  
  
"Some days, when I talk to her, I think she's doing well. Starting to get back to where she was . . . Then other days . . . I just don't know," he sighed and shook his head. "The worst part is I can't make it better. I can't protect her from the bully or buy her a fudgesicle and make her smile."  
  
"Your her dad, she knows you're there for whatever she needs."  
  
"I just . . ." he sighed and shook his head. "I know Matt will take care of her. He's a good man Syd, and I know he loves Alex like she was his own . . . I still worry about her."  
  
"It's funny," she chuckled slightly, his eyes on her as Sydney continued. "When I was pregnant, I was always talking about how I was having a baby. How *I* was having a baby . . . Which really," she considered with a slight shake of her head. Finally her eyes met his as she continued. "It's a lie. When it comes down to it, we really don't have our children - they have us. Whether they realize it or not."  
  
"They don't," he sighed. "And they probably won't until they have their own children."  
  
Sydney laughed as he opened the door for her, allowing her to breeze by him on their way out. "I don't want to think about being a grandmother."  
  
"When it happens, no matter when it happens, it'll be too soon."  
  
"Right now it's enough for me that she's in college," Sydney insisted. "She's never been too serious about boys, not until recently . . . Hopefully I'll have a long time before I worry about that."  
  
Vaughn smiled, the uninvited image of her slightly aged but no less beautiful, sitting along side him on her back stoop as grandchildren ran around the massive yard arrived in his head. The picture was, at best, a long time in the future. At worst it would be forever an unfulfilled dream. "Vaughn?" Sydney called, smiling in slight confusion as he emerged from his thoughts. "Are you hungry?"  
  
"I'd offer to cook, but I can barely walk around my apartment."\line\tab Her laughter only left his smile growing wider. "The faculty apartments leave something to be desired."  
  
"Yeah, like space to breathe," he muttered, grinning in her direction.  
  
"Have you started looking for another place?"  
  
"Not yet," Vaughn explained.   
  
"You might want to start. It took me three months to find something and then for everything with the mortgage to go through."  
  
"If it wasn't for Alex, I probably wouldn't bother," he sighed. "I don't know where I'm going to put her when she comes to visit."  
  
"When is she coming?" Sydney looked at him with sincere interest in her eyes.  
  
"I don't know yet," he conceded. Silently they agreed to take his car, his instincts taking over as he held the passenger's door open for her before he got in. "She's talked about coming to Humboldt, but I don't know if she was serious or just upset. Plus Eric and Meg said that she could stay with them if she wanted to go to school in L.A."  
  
"Well, she doesn't have to come here to look at the school. She could just come here to spend some time with you. Maybe during spring break, when you're free. You could even show her around the campus, or I could arrange for a student tour guide."  
  
Vaughn caved in to the urge to take her hand as he drove through the sleepy campus, awed at her willingness to help him and his daughter. Considering this was a woman who was willing to risk her life on countless occasions to keep a country of strangers safe, he scolded himself for being so ridiculous. There was nothing in life Sydney Bristow valued more than her loved ones, and after far too long he was back in that esteemed circle.  
  
"I still don't know where I'm going to put her," he chuckled.  
  
"She could stay with me," Sydney easily offered. At the surprised expression in her eye, she clarified. "Only if she's comfortable. I have the pull out sofa, and there's plenty of room. There are two rooms in the basement that are finished, but they're empty. If she wanted to she could just get a sleeping bag and stay down there - if she really didn't want to see much of me."  
  
"What about Claire?"  
  
"She's away at school," she shrugged, a sadness briefly in her eyes. "Either way, I'm sure she wouldn't mind," she dismissed. "They might get along," Sydney suggested.  
  
"With each other or with us?"  
  
Her brown eyes easily rolled, "with each other. Although it would be nice if they got along with us too."  
  
Somberly Vaughn finally broke their easy laughter, "I wouldn't expect too much from Alex, Syd. At least not now. This isn't a very easy time for her."  
  
"I don't expect anything from her Vaughn," she promised. "I understand this is a tough time for her. If she wants to talk, that'd be great, but if she just wants a place to stay and for me to leave her alone, I can do that too."  
  
In his seat, pulling on to her street, he nodded. None of this would come easy. The road ahead for them was only bumpier, and he couldn't help of thinking all the trouble he could have spared them if he had just been more patient, less quick to accept the CIA's belief that she was dead. Still, there was the chance, the slightest of possibilities, that all of the heartache, the detours and struggles they had endured had all been necessary to bring them to that very point where they were together.  
  
Gehrig was quickly out the door once his mistress entered, doing his business and running around his yard. Zelda quickly jumped onto Vaughn's lap, purring contently as Sydney laughed at the cat's behavior. Sydney's implied offer of making dinner was quickly discarded with the notion of ordering Chinese. Within an hour they sat in her living room, watching a basketball game and eating out of Chinese food cartons with plastic forks that she had found in her drawer.  
  
"You don't have to be here," she sighed against his neck hours later. The alarm clock on her side table had just turned to quarter after eleven as his warm hand rested on the familiar flesh of her hip. Lifting her eyes from the light dusting of hair on his chest, she was instantly looking into his baffled green eyes. "I understand Vaughn . . . This isn't an easy time for you. If spending the night makes it more difficult . . . I would never ask you to do that."  
  
His fingers ran gently through her hair before he leaned down to brush his lips against hers. "Syd," he whispered softly, brushing his lips against her temple before setting his mouth near to her ear. So close that his warm breath tickled the nearby skin of her neck. "Syd . . . I'm sad," Vaughn confessed, feeling her fingers gently running through his own crisp locks of hair. "I'm sad for Matt and my heart is breaking for Alex," he admitted before he pulled back. Once again their eyes locked, hers eager for him to continue. "Losing Kate isn't like losing you," he gently tucked a strand of her silky hair behind her ear as he continued. "It wouldn't have been even if we were still married. I'm not ashamed of it either - I loved her, and I always will, but she's not you," he finished, leaning down to capture her lips. "This is exactly where I want to be," he promised, his vow muffled against the skin of her shoulder.  
  
"I'll get a room in Stanford for us," she promised.   
  
When he pulled back, the smile on his face was eager mixed with an understandable caution. Michael Vaughn could only hope that Claire Bristow hadn't inherited her mother's ability to kick his ass. "You got the tickets?"  
  
"Yes, I did," she grinned. "I just have to call Claire tomorrow and tell her."  
  
Vaughn nodded, nestling his head into the crook of her shoulder. Holding Sydney tightly to him, sharing in a warmth that for so long he was afraid he'd never find again, he only hoped Claire Bristow would be as excited about his presence as her mother was.  
  
Whenever the phone rang in their dorm on a Saturday afternoon, Laura never even bothered to answer it. Since their first full week in Stanford, it was always Claire's mother. In some ways she envied her roommate's constant phone calls to and from her mother, along with various uncles and her grandfather. Her parents called twice a week, a few minutes on the phone and money sent. Not that she didn't understand. Her parents had a whole houseful of kids to raise, while all Claire's family had was her. Then there were days when she was glad to be free, not to have to worry about being around to hear from them. Either way, the phone calls kept coming, and for the most part Claire did nothing to discourage it.  
  
That afternoon in January was no different. Sitting on her bed when the phone rang, Laura looked over to see her roommate glance to the phone in surprise. Calmly, Claire marked her page before reaching over to pick up the phone. "Hello?"  
  
"Hey sweetie."  
  
"Hi Mom!" she greeted, a smile appearing on her face. "What's up?"  
  
"I was about to ask you the same thing," Sydney laughed.  
  
"What's wrong?"   
  
"Nothing's wrong Tinkerbelle, why do you ask?"  
  
The knife continued to twist in Claire's gut, "you sound like something's bothering you. You sound upset or nervous or something. Is everything okay?"  
  
"Everything is fine," she soothed in a voice so sincere her daughter had no choice but to believe her. It was the same voice she had used to tell tales about Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny for well over a decade. "How are you?"  
  
"Fine. Just doing some reading."   
  
"Good."  
  
Eager to get to the important part of the conversation, she asked, "so, did you get the tickets to the game?"  
  
"Yes," she slowly answered. "I got three tickets."  
  
"Oh," she replied. The surprise was obvious in her hesitation before she hopefully continued. "Is Uncle Will coming?"  
  
Back home, sitting at her kitchen table with Gehrig patiently at her feet, Sydney swallowed her fears. "No," she finally replied. "Vaughn is."  
  
"Damnit Mom! I told you I didn't want to meet him!"  
  
"You never said that."  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
  
"I thought it would be nice. I thought, since I was meeting Bryce -"  
  
"Exactly!" Claire cut her off. "This was supposed to be about you meeting Bryce! Why are you doing this?"  
  
"I want you two to meet. I thought we could all meet at once -"  
  
"Damnit, I'm not ready! Why are you pushing this?"   
  
"This is important to me Claire."  
  
"Stop this Mom! I don't want to meet him!"  
  
"Vaughn is coming with me. I don't expect you to like him, but I do expect you to be pleasant and polite. Who knows, you might even end up liking him."  
  
The only sound to greet Sydney was the dial tone.   
  
Laura raised her eyes from her book in surprise as her friend angrily smashed the phone down onto the hook. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Bad connection," Claire explained, not meeting her friends eyes. Abruptly she stood off the bed and grabbed her keys.  
  
"Where are you going? It's pouring out."  
  
"I'm going for a run," she quickly informed her. "I'll be back later. If my Mom calls, just tell her I'm out," she added before grabbing a sweatshirt and disappearing out of their dorm room.  
  
Staring at the phone, it was only a few seconds later that it rung. With no other choice, she picked it up trepidaciously. "Hello?"  
  
"Hi, Laura. This is Sydney, Claire's mom. Is she around?"  
  
"I'm sorry Sydney, Claire just left," she explained, hoping the other woman didn't hear her grimace as she recalled the slam that had accompanied Claire's exit.  
  
"Oh," she replied. In a single syllable, Laura was amazed at the worry, disappointment and concern one mother could convey. Subconsciously she suspected it was a trait all adults acquired with parenthood. The sound even left her feeling guilty, and she wasn't even the woman's daughter. "Please let her know I called, will you?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Sounding more upbeat, Sydney continued, "maybe I'll get to see you next weekend. I'm coming down for the basketball game. I was hoping to meet Bryce. Maybe all of us could go out to dinner or something."\par  
  
\tab "That sounds nice," Laura agreed. She had no problems with Sydney Bristow. In fact she thought that, despite her boring occupation, she was one of the more interesting and likable parents she had ever encountered.  
  
"Okay. I guess I'll talk to you later. Take care."  
  
"Thanks Sydney, you too," she replied and set the phone down. Sighing, she shook her head, for the first time more than happy that she wasn't a part of whatever drama was about to unfold.  
  
The truth was it wouldn't take a lot for Bryce O'Neal to confess that he was likely falling in love with the Bristow girl. That's what his friends called her, the Bristow girl, or the Bristow goalie. Things had started simply enough, in the few weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas break when the campus had been monsooned with an uncharacteristic rain. She had stood there, soaking wet and beautiful. He'd done what his parents and grandparents had always taught him, moved over his duffel bag and freed the chair next to him. It was only when she was finally sitting next to him, her brown eyes twinkling, that he hoped the stench of his recent basketball practice didn't linger too heavily.  
  
To say he had spent every free moment with her since than would be nothing short of the truth. At twenty-one years old, he had never bothered to take the time to really get to know a girl and certainly had never been so quickly passionate about one. There had been a few short term girlfriends, but no one that sparked his legitimate interest or who were even seriously interested in him. So many things had taken precedent over girls. His family, his studies, his sports and the church he was raised in all came first. In between tennis, baseball, basketball and keeping himself on the honor roll, that hadn't meant time for much else in high school. When he did have free time, he wasn't interested in many of his friend's activities. Instead he was happy to sit at home and watch movies, or practice jump shots in his driveway with his father.  
  
College hadn't been much different. With the exception of being thousands of miles from home, he was fine. Basketball and schoolwork came before any other priority except his weekly obligation to the church. He'd been recognized during his sophomore year as Scholar Athlete of the basketball division of the Pac-10, and had the highest GPA on his team. Stir in the fact that he was the highest scorer on the team and he roomed with the captain of the golf team, he was doing remarkably well for himself.  
  
Then there was Claire. She was beautiful, and so tiny compared to where he stood at a few inches over six feet. Her knowledge of sports envied his, and he'd been raised by a former NBA player and a woman who had played on two Olympic softball teams. As a finance major, many of his classes were similar to hers as an economics major, leaving even more topics of discussion. Things had quickly escalated from seemingly accidental meetings to how it was now routine for them to eat breakfast together. She could hold her own with every guy on the basketball team, she took no trash from them and while they playfully called her by her last name, it was obvious they respected and even liked her.  
  
Although they hadn't known her very long, he was confident he knew so many little things about her. Things that he adored and she probably didn't even realize she did. The way she pushed her hair behind her ear when she talked. The way she unconsciously twisted her mouth up in the corner when she was deep in thought. Every morning she had a bagel for breakfast. Always with cream cheese, unless it was an everything bagel and then she would only use butter. The way she spoke about her family, it was obvious she was very close to her uncles and aunts and her grandfather. More than that, it was obvious at the end of the day that she adored her mother.  
  
That was why, as he sat across from her on a Monday less that a week before he was scheduled to meet the woman he knew was Claire's best friend in the universe, he wondered what had her sullen and discontent. Very little got her down - that was part of the reason he liked her so much. Nothing certainly kept her down for long either, and everything made her laugh. Unlike so many other girls and woman he'd met is life, his own sisters included, she wasn't hard to please or amuse. That morning he'd tried everything, from surprising her with a chocolate chip muffin to brazenly telling her how pretty he thought she looked, even early on a Monday morning in an aged Kings jersey and what were obviously pajama bottoms.  
  
"If you don't tell me, I can't fix it."  
  
Claire sighed against her juice container and put it back down on the rackety (rickety?) dining hall table. "You can't fix it anyway," she sighed, tearing one half of her bagel in two, just as she did every morning.  
  
"Well, I can at least try."  
  
Another sigh and another wave of her hair pushed back behind her ears. "My Mother's bringing him."  
  
"Him who?"  
  
"Mr. Vaughn. Michael, whatever his name is," she pushed her food away from her. "I don't know why she's bringing him. I told her I didn't want her too, that I didn't want to meet him . . . Maybe I'm being selfish or self absorbed or childish or whatever," she groaned. "It's just . . . This trip was supposed to be about her meeting you. That's all. Just the two of us going to a basketball game, the three of us going out and then maybe Mom and I hanging out for awhile. Now it's all ruined."  
  
Even during her less than stellar moments, he couldn't help but be nuts about her. As a result he did his best to hide his smile and nodded. "Whatever it is she's doing, I doubt it's without your best interest at heart. Who knows, maybe you'll really like this guy."  
  
"I don't get what's so special about this guy anyway. Why she insists that I meet him. I don't even know why she's seriously dating all of a sudden," she sighed. Even in her own mind, Claire knew how ridiculous she sounded. No one could expected to be alone forever, but the sudden arrival of this mystery man in her mother's life did nothing to relieve her of her worries.  
  
"Why do you want me to meet your mother?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Why do you want me to meet your mother?" he calmly asked again.  
  
"What am I, five? Stop being stupid Bryce -"  
  
"Answer the question Claire," he sternly replied  
  
"Because," she shrugged her discomfort, her eyes back on the top of her chocolate chip muffin. "Because I think your special and a nice guy . . . She's my best friend, and you mean a lot to me. Why wouldn't I want you to meet?"  
  
"Maybe that's exactly why she wants you to meet Mr. Vaughn."  
  
"I still don't like it."  
  
Bryce smiled sweetly at her. "You don't have to like it Claire. God knows if my parents were dating, I'd go ballistic too."  
  
"Your parents are married," she grumbled.  
  
"Yeah, well, y'know," he teased, delighted to see her chuckle. "You can't get rid of her."  
  
"I know," she sucked in a deep breath. "I just don't want to lose her."  
  
"From what I can get, your mom is nuts about you. You're never going to lose her. Not in a million years. All she wants is you to be nice to one guy for one afternoon. Who knows, maybe after that it'll all blow up in her face."  
  
"I don't think so," she sighed. "She was in love with him, when she was younger. She even told me."  
  
"Then what's the problem?"  
  
"I'm starting to think she never stopped loving him."  
  
"This is bad because?" he asked, feeling idiotic as he posed the question.  
  
"Because he just broke her heart the first time. . . It wasn't on purpose. Mom knows it, and really I do too. He just . . He broke her, I think in a way she still is broken over it because I still think she wants to cry about it sometimes. Or kick his ass," she mumbled, causing his eyebrow to rise at the thought of her college-professor mother kicking anyone's ass. "Don't ask," she quickly added. "I just don't think my mom has it in her to have him break her heart again. I mean . . . I know my mom loves me, and I know she cared about my father, but it wasn't like this. I don't think anything else with anyone else was ever quite like it was between them. I mean you can still see it in her eyes when she talks about it," Claire sighed, running her fingers through her hair, leaving a messy wave of brunette behind her big brown eyes. "If he hurts her this time, I'll kill him."  
  
"You'll kill him?" he whispered, both of his eyebrows lifting. Calmly she shrugged her shoulders and sipped her orange juice.  
  
"Or my grandfather will."   
  
"Isn't that a bit extreme?"  
  
"No," she confidently shook her head. "After all he's put her through, if he messes with her again . . . "  
  
Bryce leaned in closer, his warm breath tickling the skin of her nose. "Your mom's obviously forgiven him, what's the big deal?"  
  
"I don't forgive people who hurt her as easily as she does. If she loves someone, she'll forgive them almost anything, no matter what . . . She's my mom. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who hurts her should die," she sighed. Lowering her eyes, she added more for her benefit than his, "my own father included."  
  
"Claire -"  
  
"The moral of the story is he better not screw with her. Or I'll have my uncle and my grandfather and my next door neighbors and the entire Cardinal's basketball team after him."  
  
"Really?" he smirked at the mention of his team.   
  
"She's my mom," she shrugged one last time. "No one pisses me off like she does Bryce. Seriously. Sometimes I just want to scream at her to just leave me alone or whatever . . . Other times though, she's absolutely everything I want. She knows exactly what I need and she just gives it to me without question. She knows when I'm sick and what makes me scared - even when I won't admit it. I know I'm grown up, and she's an adult, but I still need her."  
  
"Parents are confusing creatures," he agreed as she laughed.  
  
"I'll be nice, and I'll be polite, but I don't have to like him."  
  
Bryce rolled his eyes, "I doubt your mom expects you to."  
  
"I still reserve the right to kill him."  
  
He sighed and returned to his food, no longer doubting that she had the ability to do just that. 


	11. Chapter 10

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
Authors Note: Special thank you to Dae.   
  
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They drove for eight and a half hours that Friday night, alternating between driver and passenger. Michael Vaughn knew better than anyone that Sydney Bristow knew how to speed if necessary, and there were a few occasions when he saw her slightly slide over the speed limit. The ride was a remarkably pleasant one, in spite of the traffic and length. He held her hand, his thumb soothing the top of her knuckles. They talked, the music played comfortably in the background and he rounded up the courage to casually mention that perhaps Santa Barbara should be their next road trip. Her only response was a smile and a soft confirmation that she'd like that too.  
  
Saturday morning Bryce sat down in their regular dining hall. This morning Claire barely noticed him as he sat down across from her. Instead his nose wrinkled as he noticed her meal. "Is that ice cream?"  
  
"Yes," she answered, swallowing a bite of chocolate.   
  
"For breakfast?"  
  
"Yes," she groaned. "Is that okay with you?"  
  
"Where's the bagel?"  
  
"I'm not in a bagel type mood," she cut him off. Bryce sighed. For a few moments they were silent as he took the opportunity to plunge into his cereal as she devoured the rest of her ice cream. When she finally met his eyes again, the tip of her nose was colored and her eyes bloodshot. "You're coming this afternoon, right?"   
  
"I wouldn't miss it," he promised. "As soon as things are wrapped up after the game, I'll meet you at the restaurant."  
  
"You have the directions?" Claire worried.  
  
"Mapquest is a wonderful thing," he smirked. "When are you supposed to meet them?"  
  
"Noon outside of Maples."  
  
"Listen Claire," he sighed, leaning closer to her. "Just chill and be nice during the game, okay? I'll get to the restaurant as soon as I can."  
  
"I'll be pleasant," she vowed.  
  
Leaning across the rickety dining hall table, he grabbed her nose and gently tugged it until a smile appeared on her face. "I'm serious kid."  
  
"One of these days I'm seriously going to kick your ass for calling me that."  
  
"No you won't," he corrected. "If you would, you would have done it a long time ago."  
  
While it was without a doubt the truth, Claire just shrugged her shoulders and took another bite of her ice cream, "that's what you think."  
  
"Just don't eat all the ice cream in the county kid, please?" he pleaded.  
  
"I don't know why I'm so nervous . . . I mean, this guy should be nervous, not me, right?"   
  
"Maybe neither of you should be nervous," Bryce suggested. "Maybe you both should just trust that your mom wouldn't be doing this if she thought it would blow up in her face."  
  
"I can't eat anymore," she sighed, pulling her food away. "I'm getting nauseous."  
  
"Chill out kid," he warned. "If you keep this up, we'll have to roll you out of Maples at the end of the game."  
  
"Why is she making me do this?"  
  
"She's your mom, I don't think she thought this would be torture."  
  
"Well, it is," she groaned.   
  
"You might like this guy."  
  
"Keep saying that," she muttered.  
  
Across from her, Bryce smiled, "I will. C'mon, I'm supposed to be nervous here, not you."  
  
Claire's brown eyes grew curious. "Why are you nervous?"  
  
"I'm meeting your mom. I know how much her approval means to you."  
  
"I'm not going to disown you if my mother hates you," she promised, even though the mere notion was absurd.  
  
"The point is that I know it would affect how you see me Claire, and don't say it wouldn't. Her opinion means the world to you. Just like yours means to your mom."  
  
"You better win this afternoon," she grumbled, pulling the remainder of her half-melted ice cream back to her.  
  
"Where did you find ice cream on campus this early in the morning anyway?"  
  
A smile blossomed on her face as she shrugged, "That's for me to know and you never to find out."  
  
Later that morning, in one of the college town's many hotels, Sydney Bristow looked up from fixing her hair as Michael Vaughn walked out of the bathroom. The look on his anxious face broke her heart as he stood inspecting his attire. Somehow, despite the casual nature of the day's events, a polo shirt and jeans didn't seem appropriate for the occasion of meeting the mysterious Claire Bristow. Slowly Sydney stood and walked over to him, placing her palms on her chest and leaned up to slowly kiss him. Pulling back, he granted her a half smile as she spoke quietly into the small space between them. "Why are you so nervous? You weren't this anxious about meeting my father."  
  
"Your father introduced himself to me with the barrel of a gun. I'm hoping for better luck with Claire."  
  
For a few moments her laughter filled through the still hotel room air. "My daughter believes that guns should be abolished, even for government employees. She's been trying to convince my father to get rid of his for years."  
  
"Somehow I don't imagine she realizes you know how to fire one either."  
  
"No," she agreed as they sat down on the edge of the bed. "She doesn't realize a lot of things about her family. . ."  
  
"You're just protecting her Syd," Vaughn reminded, softly squeezing her hand.  
  
Sydney's chocolate eyes met his, "From what? Herself? Her family's past?"  
  
"What good would it do Syd?" he urged. "I'm not a big fan of Irina Derevko, and in most instances your father and I don't see eye to eye, but what good would it do? Who they were, what you used to do, has no affect on who Claire is. Telling her would only confuse and upset her. All that matters to that girl is who you and your parents are to her. What the rest of the world sees shouldn't matter."  
  
Her eyes were glued on the carpet in front of her as she sighed, "I don't know how I'm going to explain your knowing that her grandmother is alive. I've spent her entire life trying to avoid the subject of why she *couldn't* tell people her grandmother is alive. . ."  
  
"We'll deal with that when the time comes," he softly insisted, gently using his fingers to tilt her face to look at him.   
  
Finally she smiled, leaning over to kiss him. "Claire will like you," she promised. "Maybe not right away, but give her some time."  
  
"I've got plenty of that," Vaughn smiled as they both stood, their hands still safely in one another's. "We should head out, it looks like it's getting worse out there," he noted as the rain continued to pour out their window.  
  
"Ready for this?" she questioned as he helped her into her jacket.  
  
Another smile and another kiss before he brought her hand up to his lips and carefully kissed it. "Let's go."  
  
If there hadn't been the promise of seeing Bryce play in a game at Maples, Laura wasn't entirely sure her roommate would have been convinced to head out the door in time to meet her mother. Neither had slept well the night before. Instead they lay on their backs as the fan overhead circulated the room's air. Claire talked and Laura listened as she tumbled through her fears and anxieties. It had been an unexpected journey for Laura, who had walked in the dorm room just after midnight to find her friend lying still and her mind racing. What surprised her most was the tumultuous ocean of emotions that had been opened up in her calm, polite, normally composed roommate. Late into the early morning they sat deconstructing her emotions and the what if's of the situation. Just after eleven in the morning Laura, still trying to catch up on the sleep she had missed, had heard Claire sneak out of the dorm room for the day. As the door slammed behind her, she rolled over onto her back and said a silent prayer that the day wouldn't be as bad as Claire anticipated.  
  
Decked out in her Stanford baseball cap and matching Stanford t-shirt, she comfortably blended in with the crowd pouring into Maples. Except Claire stood there, her back against the rough texture of the building as she waited. Just past the overhang the rain was pouring, reminding her of the very day she had met Bryce. Only two months ago, but it felt far longer than that. Perhaps since she'd had a crush on him on and off since she'd first seen him play basketball when she was only a junior in high school, while he was a freshman. At the time the idea of going to Stanford was absurd, and the thought of meeting him, nevermind being his friend, was ridiculous. Yet by chance or coincidence, fate or foolishness, it had happened. Lying at night, waiting for Laura to come home from a late class or a date, she'd consider the recent occurrences in her life and still wondered how it all happened as well as it did.  
  
Easily she could imagine her Naunua telling her simply that what was meant to happen would happen. Another notion that her Grandfather would likely find absurd. Most of the time her mother would just smile and be happy when she was happy, not going so far as the question the circumstances or reasons. Even so, it was impossible to imagine her mother disliking Bryce. Sometimes she'd even conjure up the image of her Grandfather and Uncle Will meeting him. In her mind he met their approval gracefully in every single scenario. All Claire could do was hope that real life would be as kind if the situation ever arose.  
  
As the crowds pushed around her, a wonderfully familiar sight came into view. Steadily her mother and an unfamiliar companion were working their way through the crowds, obviously searching for someone. With neither aware that she saw them, Claire allowed herself the brief opportunity to study this man who had invaded her world without her knowledge or consent. He was dressed comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt, but he looked decent enough. While he no longer carried the same sharp features that he had in the photo her mother had shown, she could almost allow herself to see how her mother managed to find him attractive. Most of all he was clean-shaven and appeared intelligent, allowing for a fairly favorable first impression.  
  
"Mom!" Claire finally called over the crowd. Thankfully both of them were taller than she was, finally spotting her in the crowd. Curiously she noted how her mother gently grasped his hand and tugged her toward him. It was only slightly reassuring to Claire to see that this man was as anxious about this as she was.  
  
A smile bloomed widely across Sydney's face as she warmly hugged her daughter. "Claire! I missed you," she spoke softly.  
  
Pulling back, she smiled in slight embarrassment, "I missed you too Mom," she promised before her eyes drew themselves to the stranger in their mist.  
  
"Claire, this is Michael Vaughn. Michael, this is my daughter," Sydney calmly introduced, her hand tucking itself snugly into the crook of his left arm.  
  
"It's nice to meet you Claire, I've heard a lot about you," Michael smiled and held his hand out to her. Much to his relief, she grasped it firmly and shook his hand, making no attempt to force him onto his back or shove a weapon under his nasal cavity.  
  
"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Vaughn," was her instinctive reply.  
  
"Please, call me Michael," he insisted.   
  
Nodding uncomfortably, she softly agreed, "Sure."   
  
"We should probably head in," Sydney cheerfully added. "Were you waiting long?" she inquired as they joined the line of people steadily moving through the south entrance of Maples Pavilion.  
  
"Not really," she dismissed. "Just a few minutes. Sorry I didn't see you."  
  
"That's fine Tinkerbelle," her mother promised. "How's Laura?"  
  
"She's fine. Sleeping. We were sort of up late last night."  
  
"Laura's your roommate?" Vaughn politely asked.  
  
Glancing past her mother to their other companion, Claire spoke, "Yes. She's a sociology major."  
  
"Is she on the field hockey team too?"  
  
"No," Claire shook her head, hiding her surprise at how well he knew her. "We were matched when we filled out our residency information. So far it's gone really well."  
  
"My freshman year I roomed with one of my friend's from boarding school. It was the first time we had roomed together and it was a disaster. That's why I told my daughter if she was going to live on campus, she's better off with a stranger. You don't bring any baggage into it, you're less likely to lose a friend," Michael offered as they handed the attendant their tickets and were directed to the central loge section of the pavilion.  
  
"What's her name?" she asked. In the back of her mind Claire knew that her mother had told her his daughter's name, but it was a struggle to remember it.  
  
"Alexandra."  
  
"Mom says she goes to Arizona, right?"  
  
"At the moment," Vaughn nodded. "She's taking a leave of absence this semester. She might transfer someplace else, she hasn't decided yet."  
  
"What's she studying?"  
  
"Biochemistry. She's planning on medical school."  
  
"That's cool," Claire noted as they settled into their seats. Claire sat on the edge next to her mother with Vaughn on Sydney's other side.  
  
"You're studying economics?"  
  
"Yeah," she nodded, starting to finger the program they had handed out at the door of the arena. Vaughn nodded and leaned back in his seat, gladly meeting Sydney's smile as Claire wrapped herself up on reading the biographical paragraphs in the booklet.  
  
It was a good game, an electric atmosphere in the sold-out Pavilion. Stanford was ranked thirteenth in the country that week, and the unranked USC team, who had only three losses and fifteen wins, were chomping for some national recognition and respect. The first half was close, the teams bringing a 45-41 score into the locker room with the advantage going to the Cardinals. Claire mused that whatever Coach Woodward had said in the locker room worked as the Cardinals went on a 21-5 run to start the second half. With three minutes remaining in the game and the team with a twenty-three point advantage, Bryce was taken out for the last time and given a loud, long ovation from the Maples crowd. Then, like the rest of them, he sat down to watch Stanford roll over USC, 91-67.  
  
"Bryce will meet us?" Sydney asked as they started to leave the arena.  
  
"He has to shower, talk to the media, and go back to campus with the team, so yeah."  
  
"He's a good player," Vaughn evaluated.  
  
"Yeah," Claire grinned. "He's pretty decent," she shrugged, the color illuminating her normally fair features. "Looks like it's going to rain again," she sighed with a quick look up at the clouds forming above.  
  
"Well, we're eating inside," Sydney smiled as they approached the car.   
  
"How was the drive?" Claire politely inquired as she buckled herself safely into the back seat.  
  
Sydney glanced over her shoulder at her only child as Vaughn joined the flow of traffic out of the arena parking lot. "It really wasn't too bad."  
  
"Good," she sighed and looked out the window. Various topics of conversation floated through her mind, none of which seemed appropriate or even interesting. As her mother leaned over to flip on the radio, Claire gave herself the chance to study this man who had so suddenly reentered and shaken up her mother's world. In the front of the car they appeared to be briefly in their own world, their conversation inaudible but their gestures instinctively intimate. The rain kept pounding down beyond the windows, the strings of some aged Sheryl Crow song slipping through the speakers. Unsure of what to say, she found herself doodling her initials next to Bryce's on the window's condensation as one of her mother's favorite artists sung about faith.  
  
The waiter led them to a quiet booth of the comfortable restaurant. The two adults smiled in her direction as Vaughn and Sydney slid in to the booth across from her. Their drink orders were taken before the waiter disappeared, leaving the three to conversation. Vaughn clasped his hands in front of him, turning his head briefly to meet Sydney's comforting eyes before he dipped into the uncharted pool of conversation.  
  
"Your mom says you play field hockey."  
  
"Yeah," Claire confirmed, struggling not to check her watch as she fiddled with her straw wrapper.  
  
Vaughn nodded, his expression slightly less confident as he tried again. "You play for Stanford, right?"  
  
"Right," she nodded.  
  
"You must be very good. Starting as goalie your freshman year."  
  
The young woman shrugged, trying to see past the downpour to detect if Bryce had arrived. "I'm okay. I always wanted to play ice hockey but there aren't a lot of ice hockey leagues around here, and like none are for girls."  
  
"There are some rinks in Los Angeles."  
  
"Mom's taken me to a few. When we go to visit Uncle Will, he'll take me, but it's hard to play when you're only able to get on the ice a few times a year."  
  
"There must be a rink somewhere in the area," he insisted, looking at Sydney for direction.   
  
"Nah, I've looked," Claire sighed.   
  
"So . . . Economics is your major, right?" he questioned, her eyes darting briefly to the glass.   
  
Slowly her head bobbed as she looked back at him, giving him the same glare her mother had in the earliest days of their working relationship. "Yeah."  
  
"I studied economics."  
  
"Here?"   
  
"No, Georgetown. Now D.C. is a good place for ice hockey. There are some pee wee hockey leagues out there too that I was involved in."  
  
"That's neat," she agreed. "I couldn't have gone that far from home. Grandpa took me to D.C. once, Christmas time. It was pretty cool, but they don't have a field hockey team."  
  
"We moved a lot when I was a kid," Vaughn conveyed. "Until I was eight," he softly corrected. "I was used to moving, and when I started college I wanted a life completely removed from my mom."  
  
"I don't think I'm ready for that quite yet," Claire confessed, the caramel-drowned ice clinking in her glass as she stirred her straw. "I keep saying I will, that I'll go farther away for graduate school maybe . . . maybe law school," she sighed, her eyes drawn to her glass as she pushed hair behind her ear.   
  
"With your undergrad in economics the opportunities for graduate school are endless. You could teach, or pursue law or international relations . . . especially with a degree from someplace like Stanford," Vaughn insisted.   
  
"I should know what I want to do," she groaned and leaned against the slightly worn out booth. "Everyone else knows what they want to do . . . Mom always knew what she wanted to do."  
  
"That's the beauty of college. You've got a few more years before you have to decide," he assured her. Absently Claire nodded, her eyes once again peering sadly out the window. "So, how long have you been seeing Bryce?" he softly inquired.  
  
Claire's eyes snapped to his, instantly defensive, the stance of her shoulders one he'd seen another lifetime ago on the frame of another Bristow woman. "We're not dating. He's a finance major . . . I think he just wants to meet mom to talk to her about the competitive world of international banking or something . . ." she sighed, looking at her watch and than back out the window.  
  
Unbeknownst to her, the adults shared a prolonged look before Sydney turned back to her daughter. "Claire," she quietly called. Tearing her eyes away from the window, Claire looked at her mother and waited. Sydney spoke softly, her voice so low her companions could barely hear her. "Vaughn knows . . . About everything. About how I never really worked for a bank, about the work I did for the government . . . We were partners . . . He even knows about your grandmother," she spoke. All the truth, Sydney knew, for once reassured that Claire didn't know the whole truth about her grandmother. Some things a child never needs to know.  
  
Already porcelain skin grew nearly translucent under the restaurant's bright lighting. Just as quickly her eyes drew down to her paper placemat and her fingers toyed with the edge of her Stanford t-shirt. Thirty seconds of eternity ticked away before Claire finally broke it with a softly uttered syllable, "Oh."  
  
The waiter reappeared. With Bryce's arrival nowhere in sight, they placed their order for appetizers, Sydney and Vaughn still hungry after eating a sparse breakfast. Once he vanished behind the kitchen doors, the minutes continued to slowly tick by. Underneath the tabletop, Vaughn's fingers intertwined with hers as Claire studied the menu then looked sullenly out the window. When the food appeared in front of them, nearly an hour after their arrival, he dared once again to break the conversation. "Did Bryce know how to get here?"  
  
"Supposedly," Claire sighed, her shoulders progressively drooping as she pushed her food around her plate.  
  
"I'm sure he'll be here sweetheart . . . You know men can never ask for directions, even when their lost," Sydney teased, briefly relieved to see the fleeting smile on her daughter's face. Quietly Vaughn asked about Sydney's food, the two quietly talking about their food when a long shadow fell over the table.  
  
Bryce stood uncomfortably in front of the table. Claire looked up from her plate and sighed. Slipping out of the booth, Bryce noted how she seemed to purposely stand a few feet from him as Vaughn and Sydney stood. "Mom, Michael, this is Bryce O'Neal. Bryce, this is my mother Sydney Bristow and her . . . friend, Michael Vaughn," she introduced.   
  
"It's nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you," he smiled and vigorously shook the professor's hand.  
  
Sydney smiled, instantly impressed with the clean-shaven, well-dressed young man. "It's nice to meet you too Bryce."  
  
"Sorry," Bryce sheepishly grinned as he looked over at Vaughn. "I haven't heard much about you, but it's nice to meet you."  
  
"You played an impressive game today," Vaughn complimented in slight awe.  
  
"Yeah," the younger man smiled and scratched his head. "I guess I moved ahead on the school's all time scoring list . . . I didn't even know until the sports reporter from the Gazette told me . . ." he shrugged.  
  
At his side Claire sighed and grabbed her sweater out of the booth. "Excuse me, I'll be back in a few minutes," she dismissed herself. The remaining three watched as she exited out of the restaurant via the boardwalk entrance, leaning against the wooden railing, seemingly unbothered by the rain.   
  
The skin on his cheeks burned as Bryce turned to his elders. "Excuse me Dr. Bristow, Mr. Vaughn . . . I'll be right back," he quickly followed in her footsteps.  
  
Although she heard him, Claire didn't acknowledge him as he joined her on the boardwalk, finding sanctuary below the overhang as she remained soggy. "Kid - " he spoke softly.  
  
"A stupid school record," she broke out over the rain. She tightened her arms around her body for comfort and to keep out the chill that grew increasingly heavy in the air. "So what, now you're fifth on the all time scoring list instead of seventh?" she muttered.   
  
"I didn't realize -"  
  
"You made me do this by myself because of some stupid school record?" she turned towards him. "I'm sitting there, not knowing what the hell to say to this man who I can't help but think knows more about my family than I do!" Claire bitterly spoke. As her words progressed, she walked steadily towards him, arriving under the dry sanctuary of the overhang. "I *needed* you Bryce! You *know* how upset I've been about this, and you just blew me off . . . I was starting to think you weren't going to come!" she blinked away the tears.   
  
"Claire . . ." Bryce sighed and stepped toward her, the heat rebounding off of his body and warming hers. He seemed to suddenly remember something as he dug into the pocket of his khakis and pulled out a linen handkerchief. Folded into a neat quarter, he pressed the gentle cotton against her face, absorbing the rainwater. Claire's brown eyes remained fixated on his face as her mind wondered how a man who believed all shopping should be internet-based came to carry a handkerchief.  
  
Just as magically the soft item disappeared back into his pocket once his task was completed. As her eyes dropped back down to their feet, her eyes caught his hands as they moved to take his. The erratic thumping originating under her throat slowly died down as she braced herself to look back at him, her eyes arriving just in time to see him reverently kiss the top of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry," he continued, his voice just as low as dragged his lips over her forehead in the briefest of touches. With her chocolate eyes locked with his and her heart willingly in his hands, he lowered his lips to kiss her.  
  
Back inside the restaurant, Vaughn glanced out the door the young couple had disappeared in. "Do you think they're okay?"  
  
Sydney sighed, "I hope so . . . that has to be part of the reason why she's been acting so distant. Usually she's very friendly and personable."  
  
He looked skeptically at her, "I'm your boyfriend Syd. I think in Claire's book that makes me public enemy number one."  
  
"She's a good kid . . . She's amazing Vaughn. I know you probably can't tell by her behavior tonight, but she's such a wonderful person . . . She's just so uncertain of herself sometimes, and her uncertainty makes her hostile . . . She's a lot like I was," Sydney noted before looking back down at her food.  
  
"You were never uncertain of yourself Syd," he corrected in brief amusement.  
  
"No," she shook her head and swallowed her food. "I was. In a way, SD-6, as horrible as it was, made me the person I am. Going out there, doing those missions . . . It left me a lot more confident than I ever was before. After I started working there, I was much more certain around myself, of what I was doing . . . much more confident around boys."  
  
Vaughn chuckled, "I don't imagine it was very hard for you to get a date in high school Syd."  
  
"All girl's boarding school Vaughn," she reminded him. "Even if I hadn't been, since I couldn't do ballet, I played the saxophone in the marching band . . . I was terribly shy too," Sydney recalled. Glancing by him at the door he watched the worry crawl onto her features, "Maybe I should go -"  
  
"I'll do it," he stood up.  
  
"Vaughn -"  
  
"I'll do it Sydney," he promised. The truth was he was anxious to be briefly alone with Claire, to find some neutral or perhaps even positive ground with the young woman. Vaughn smiled at her before he walked out the door to the boardwalk. To his amusement he watched the younger couple break out of their embrace. "Is everything okay?" he inquired.  
  
Bryce glanced at Claire and shrugged, "Yes. Everything's fine," he promised, squeezing Claire's hand gently. "I'm going to go order something to eat," he spoke, dropping a kiss on her cheek and going to join Sydney.   
  
Uncertain, Claire smiled briefly at Vaughn before she turned back to the water, slowly walking back to the railing. Sighing, he stuck his hands into the pockets of the worn denim and went to join her. They stood watching the water, the slowly dying showers, momentarily in silence. "In some weird way, she's been waiting for you for over twenty years . . . " she spoke up, her eyes still fixated on the rocking shores ahead of her. "I mean, she was obviously with my father, and she saw Peter, but nothing serious . . . I know she cared about my father, but I don't think it was ever completely real to her . . . So she's just been waiting," Claire's shoulders shrugged as she hugged herself. "For so long she's just been waiting on this obscure chance that you'll come back . . . I never realized it, I mean of course I didn't, until a few weeks ago I didn't even know you existed," she chuckled, mostly for her own amusement. "I can see it now, when I think about stuff, that she was just waiting and hoping, even when she wouldn't admit it to herself. And I know my mom, she's too stubborn to admit it to anyone, *especially* to herself," she commented as the man next to her chuckled.   
  
Claire's brown eyes darted to his, the sober expression on her face reminding him of Jack's more stone faced moments. "I can't understand it, not really, having so much faith . . . Loving someone that much that you'd just wait, even when the *only* thing you have to go on is faith . . . She told me what happened, the first time you were with her. What you did . . . I know my mom, and I could just *see* how badly you hurt her then. Don't do it again," she warned, her voice low. "Don't hurt her Mr. Vaughn, because if you do, I'll make sure you spend the rest of your life regretting it."  
  
Standing in front of him was little Claire Bristow, the little girl in ponytails and stained overalls that he'd seen grow up via pictures in her grandfather's office. The only grandchild of two former spies, two people still legendary in the world of high-stakes espionage. The only grandchild of two grandparents who openly adored her. Knowing all of that, Vaughn had no doubt that Claire could easily stay true to her word, with only a phone call and a little bit of help from her grandfather.   
  
"Your mother is one of the most loving, amazing women I've ever met," he quietly started. "After everything she's been through, after all the things I watched her go through . . Knowing what she went through when you were younger, how difficult it must have been raising you on her own . . . Claire, your mother continues to amazes me. How she can continue to be so loving and trusting and caring after all that's been done to her . . . " he trailed off.   
  
Claire studied this man, wondering just how much of her mother's life that he shared, parts of her mother's life that she doubted she even knew existed. "I fell in love with her the day I met her, with that stupid bozo hair . . . The day we met was during one of the most difficult times in your mother's life, but I don't regret that I fell in love with her . . ." he sighed, his voice dropping lower. "I don't regret moving on with my life after I lost her Claire. I would do anything I could to go back and change anything that I've ever done to hurt her, but I had to move on."  
  
  
  
"You hurt her," she repeated, her voice low and harsh.  
  
"I did," he looked regretfully out at the ocean. "I do regret that, but not a day has past since the first day we met that I haven't loved her. All I want now is to be with her, to take care of her," Vaughn explained. Before Claire could protest he continued, "I'm aware that your mother doesn't need to be taken care of, but that doesn't mean I don't want to do it . . . When she came back, I wanted closure. In some way I think I wanted her blessing, I wanted her to tell me that it was okay that I'd moved on, that she understood . . . She never did," he recalled as Claire bit back a chuckle. "When I think about it now . . . Claire, closure would have been futile. No matter where we were, no matter whom we were with . . . The relationship never really ended. Even if there was nothing going on, even though we never saw each other, as long as you love someone, the relationship always continues, even if they're not there with you."   
  
"You still remember the day you met?"  
  
Vaughn smiled, "like it was yesterday," he confirmed. "I was a junior agent . . . Your mother was what we called a walk in," he explained, mindful not to divulge too much. "I just happened to be up that day, it was my turn to deal with the various people who walked through our doors every day and claimed to have information . . . She was beautiful and bloody and broken," he sighed, the confusion clouding Claire's eyes. "I can't begin to tell you how much she changed my life. I half expected her to beat me up . . . I loved her though Claire, and I was terrified . . . Your mother thought for the longest time that she made my life more difficult. More complicated. She did," he softly agreed, his head tilted. "No matter what she thinks she's taken from me, she's given me back more than I ever thought I could have."   
  
"My grandfather says that you're not good enough for her."  
  
Vaughn studied his feet and nodded, clearly imagining the words from Jack Bristow's mouth. "Yes, I know," he spoke and looked back at her. "He's probably right . . . I've never been good enough for your mother Claire. I wasn't then and it's unlikely I am now. Your grandfather has every reason to be suspicious of me, to be dubious of my intentions. So do you Claire. I don't expect your grandfather or your Uncle Will or anyone else who loves your mother to accept me back into her life without hesitation. None of that changes the fact that I was so in love with her. And it does nothing to change the way I feel. I thought then that I was more in love with her than I could ever be with anyone, but now . . . I love her even more. The only hope I have for you, for my own daughter, is that you find someone who loves you as much as I love your mother. And I hope that if you do, and he hurts you, you can find it in yourself to forgive him, just as your mother has managed to do."   
  
"I won't let you hurt her again," Claire softly warned. Out of the corner of her brown eyes, he saw him nod slightly, accepting her terms. The wind died down around them, bouncing slower off the water as they stood there in silence.  
  
"We should probably go inside, our food's getting cold," Vaughn finally spoke. Claire smiled with a slight nod of her head, following him back into the restaurant.  
  
Inside the warm restaurant, Sydney was sharing a story from Claire's childhood with an attentive Bryce. The young man had been absently eating his meal as he listened to stories that only a mother could share. The young woman smiled at her mother and beau, sliding into the booth next to him as Vaughn rejoined Sydney. "Everything okay?" Sydney gently inquired.  
  
"Everything's fine," Claire smiled at her mother.  
  
"Claire," Vaughn started again as she looked up at him. "You're a Kings fan?"  
  
Bryce snorted at what he thought had to be a rhetorical question. Asking if Claire Bristow liked the Los Angeles Kings was about as rhetorical as asking him whether his life dream was to play in the NBA. The girl next to him blushed and gently nudged him in the ribs before she spoke. "I love the Kings. They look good so far this season."  
  
"They do. If they can beat Ottawa, they've got a chance at the Cup."  
  
"Ottawa, really?" Claire looked skeptical. "I think their biggest threat will be New Jersey."  
  
"Do we have to talk about hockey?" Bryce teased.  
  
"You don't like hockey?" Sydney questioned, surprised as the young man shook his head no.  
  
"I'm trying," he explained. "I just can't get interested."  
  
"I don't understand why. Hockey and basketball are essentially the same thing," Claire reasoned.  
  
"They are *not* essentially the same thing," he retorted.   
  
"Gordie Howe would have beaten Michael Jordan's butt any day," she insisted.  
  
"Forget Michael Jordan, what about Wilt Chamberlain? Or Dr. J? Contrary to popular early twenty first century belief, there *is* good basketball beyond Jordan, Iverson, Berkley and Bryant."  
  
Vaughn glanced over at Sydney, who rolled her eyes at their good-natured debate. Chuckling the older man reclasped her hand under the table and decided for a change of conversation. "What type of music do you like?"  
  
Bryce snickered, "John Mayer."  
  
"Shut up!" Claire hissed, her eyes wide and her skin the shade of blood. "Don't be stupid!" she muttered. "He's like forty-something, he's got like five kids and married to some novelist in Connecticut," she dismissed. "Anyway, I've been listening to him all my life. Mom loves his stuff."  
  
Another look in Sydney's direction and Vaughn was granted a cheeky smile, vague remembrances of days when he woke up early in the morning to find her all but gushing over the musician courtesy of VH-1's Insomniac Theatre. "I'm doing my best to wean her off it, but it's going to take time," Bryce teased.  
  
Looking at the young couple, both glowing and far too young to realize all the inevitable road bumps that lay ahead of them, it was impossible not to smile. At that age ignorance was bliss. Sydney was certain her daughter felt that with Bryce by her side, she could tackle anything and succeed, that nothing could halt their well-planned dream. Despite her common sense and the knowledge that nothing in life was ever that smooth, she couldn't help but wish it was that way for them.  
  
Conversation progressed fairly naturally over dinner. Gently Sydney did her best to prod through Bryce's life without being obvious. Despite having grown up in Wisconsin, Bryce shared Vaughn's love for the Mets. Throughout the meal Vaughn took the opportunity to occasionally stir conversation with Claire, who would respond politely if not a bit distantly. Being a Bristow, Vaughn had expected nothing less. No one in that family opened up easily, especially when he was considered by the young woman to be a hostile outsider. Knowing all Sydney had endured, remembering with regret all the suffering he'd unwittingly forced her to suffer, he more than understood Claire's fierce protectiveness over her mother - he liked her even more for it.  
  
"Do you want us to drive you back?" Sydney asked her daughter as the four walked out of the restaurant. The sun was already deeply buried beneath the night sky as a cool breeze blew around them.   
  
"There's no need Dr. Bristow, I can drive Claire back," Bryce offered as they stood on the sidewalk.  
  
"Well," she sighed. "I guess this is it then, huh?" she smiled at her daughter.   
  
"I'll be home in a few weeks Mom," Claire promised, willingly entering her mother's arms as Vaughn and Bryce shook hands.  
  
"What about you Bryce?" Sydney smiled as mother and daughter broke apart. "What are your spring break plans?"  
  
"Hopefully we'll be playing in the NCAA regionals, so I have my fingers crossed that I won't have to make any plans."  
  
Vaughn asked, "When is your break?"  
  
"The nineteenth of March is the last day of exams," Claire answered.  
  
Confused Vaughn turned to Sydney, "Isn't that the last day of our break?"  
  
Claire sighed, "Of course it is. It always seems to work out that way."  
  
Sydney smiled at her daughter, "I'll have more than enough time. Maybe we can even go away, I could have some of my TA's teach for a few days," she promised. Then she looked back at Bryce. "Good luck with the remainder of the season," she smiled politely and briefly hugged him. "It was nice meeting you."  
  
"You too," he replied as he reached for Claire's hand in the dark.   
  
"Drive safely Mom, and call me when you get home," she urged.  
  
"I will Tinkerbelle," Sydney vowed.  
  
As Bryce squeezed her fingers, she looked over at the newcomer in her mother's world and did her best to smile sincerely. "It was nice to meet you Michael."  
  
"You too Claire, it was nice to finally meet the woman your mother talks about all the time."  
  
Despite the dark, everyone could make out the red in her cheeks as she shook his hand. "Thanks. She's really got to start talking about the dog more though - I'm really not that interesting."  
  
"That's not true," Sydney corrected. "As your mother, I'm the authority on all things Claire and I think your fantastic."  
  
"Thanks Mom," she softly replied with a smile.   
  
"We should get going," Bryce realized. "Have a safe trip home," he urged the older couple.  
  
"You too," Vaughn called. Then they stood on the sidewalk, watching as Bryce and Claire got into his car and with a wave in their direction, drive way. "She's great," he spoke softly, his fingers intertwined with hers as he led her over to the car.  
  
"She is," Sydney confirmed and a slight nod. "Thank you," she whispered as he held her car door open for her. Even in the darkness, she noticed his eyes soften and his smile bloom. Even after a lifetime apart, he still knew her.  
  
Bending over, he gently kissed her. "No regrets Syd."   
  
As he got into the car, she looked over at him with a smile and a nod, her voice confident, "no regrets." 


	12. Chapter 11

Title: It Goes On  
  
Author: UConnFan (Michele)  
  
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com  
  
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.   
  
Authors Note: Special thank you to Dae.   
  
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A roadtrip to Oregon was immediately on the docket for the Cardinal's after their USC win that weekend. Three and a half weeks later, on the last day of February Stanford celebrated Senior Day during its last home game of the season, a victory against Oregon. By then Sydney and Vaughn were back home, slowly growing accustomed to a routine that saw them spending more time together than apart. The ease to which she allowed herself to fall back into that life with him scared her. By her side on the sofa as they watched Kings games or sitting across from her half-awake brown eyes over breakfast, Vaughn allowed himself the pleasure of tucking her hand in his or soothing her with a gentle kiss. Nothing flashy or monumental by any means, just a silent reassurance that her fears were his fears but this time he wasn't going anywhere.  
  
Just a little over two months past Kate's death, Vaughn found himself alone in his apartment on a Monday in March. Rarely was he even in the tiny residency they dubbed his faculty apartment, and it was even rarer for him to be alone. In truth he had no plans of even staying the night. However he was all but certain there were life forms now growing in his refrigerator, and Sydney had been invited out with Georgia and a few other friends. Well aware that he'd greedily monopolized her time since he arrived, he'd gladly given her his blessing to go enjoy a much deserved Girl's Night Out. In the meantime he was busy working on his next lecture when the phone in his apartment rang.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hi Daddy."  
  
"Alex," he smiled. Steadily the anguish was leaving her voice with only a halo of sorrow remaining. Matt continued to e-mail him a few times throughout the week to let him know how she was doing, and while he made it a priority to call her every other day, it was unusual for her to contact him. "How are you sweetheart?"  
  
"Okay," she answered, releasing a soft sigh. "Can I come visit?"   
  
"Sure!" he eagerly replied, leaning forward in his seat. "Of course you can sweetheart, you don't even have to ask. When would you like to come out?"  
  
"I'm going to Lake Forest tomorrow. I'm supposed to land at O'Hare tomorrow afternoon. Matt was supposed to tell you."  
  
"He did," Vaughn assured her.  
  
"Anyway. I wanted to stay for a few weeks, since Lindsay and Mandie both have Spring Break this month, just different weeks."  
  
"I'm glad you'll be able to spend some time with them," he commented.  
  
"Me too," she agreed and he thought he might have even sensed a smile. "Anyway, I was hoping maybe I could come out on the twentieth, if that's okay?"  
  
"That's fine honey. Spring Break here is the week before that, but I don't have to work every day, so we'll have time together."  
  
"Good. I can't wait to see this place."  
  
"Actually sweetheart . . ." he looked skeptically around his cramped space. "I was wondering if you'd like to stay at my friend's home. My place . . . until I get an apartment off campus, there's not much room. Obviously, if you want to stay here you can, we can work it out, but you might be more comfortable -"  
  
"At Sydney's?" Alex finished for him, her voice playful.   
  
Vaughn sighed, a slight grin on his face as he shook his head. "How did you know I was referring to Sydney?"  
  
"I'm not blind, deaf *and* dumb Daddy," she explained. "If Sydney doesn't mind, I'll stay there."  
  
"Okay, one second," he requested as he stood and walked over to his desk. "Actually, you'll be able to meet Claire too."  
  
"Who's Claire?"  
  
"Sydney's daughter. She's a freshman at Stanford. She's a nice girl, I think you'll like her."  
  
"Will it be a problem? My staying there while her daughter's on Spring Break?"  
  
"No, not at all. Actually it was Sydney's suggestion that you stay at her house. There's just more room for you that way."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"If it gets to be too much, you can always come here," Vaughn softly assured her.  
  
"Please check with her though, please Daddy? I really don't want to be in the way."  
  
"You won't be in the way honey," he promised. "It's really nice here. We're not too far from Oregon too, so maybe we could do a road trip. You've never been to Oregon, have you?"  
  
"Does playing the Oregon Trail game count?"  
  
"No," he chuckled. "We could go there if you want. We could do a lot of things. If you just want to relax that'd be great too."  
  
"Calm down Dad," she urged. "You are going to show me this school of yours, right?"  
  
"Of course sweetheart, I'll give you a personally guided tour of Humboldt."  
  
"Good," she confirmed. "Actually, I'm going to look at a few schools in Chicago while I'm there, and Lake Forest has a college too. I don't think I want to go out there, but I mean if I do, at least Lindsay and Mandie will be there to help me out."  
  
"Just look around sweetheart. Wherever you want to go is fine with me. You can always go back to Arizona."  
  
"I know," she promised. "I'm going to go Dad. I still have to finish packing. I love you."  
  
"I love you too honey. Have a good flight tomorrow, and please give me a call on the cell phone when you land."  
  
"I will," she vowed. "Night Dad," Alex spoke and hung up.  
  
The smile was wide on his face as Vaughn hung up the phone. As much as Kate had apparently urged Alex to consider going to HSU, he hadn't expected his daughter to make the effort. In fact he wasn't seriously expecting a visit until summer, no matter how much he wanted to see her. Alex was in an understandably difficult place - if she wanted to go visit her cousins or her friends in different states and away from him, he'd gladly support if it if helped her heal. Now she was coming to Trinidad, all aspects of his life were finally colliding together. Vaughn grabbed his keys off of the kitchen table, along with his briefcase, and headed out the door, eager to find Sydney.  
  
"Syd!" he called as he walked into the house late that evening. Gehrig sniffed his ankles only briefly before whipping by him for the yard. The three cats, curled up with authority in Gehrig's doggie bed, only briefly opened their eyes before going back to sleep. Vaughn was no longer an intruder in their world, and his entrance no longer caused the commotion it once did. "Syd?" he called, hanging his keys on the keyholder in between Sydney's home keys and her work keys. If it wasn't for the large Kings keychain on her home keys, Vaughn knew he'd never be able to tell the difference between the two.  
  
Shrugging off his coat, he walked over to the kitchen table and rested it there. To his confusion, he noticed a new roll of dark blue contact paper resting on the surface of the table, right in front of the vase of flowers he'd given her just a few days ago. Picking it up, he examined it as he heard footsteps. When he turned around, the sight that greeted him melted his heart and prompted his smile. Free of make up or jewelry, her feet bare, her jeans starting to obviously age at the knees and the baseball shirt one he swore she'd owned when he'd known her another lifetime ago. There was nothing more beautiful than a natural Sydney Bristow. Even without make up, when she smiled, she glowed.  
  
"Hey," she smiled, brushing hair off of her face and leaning up to gently kiss him.  
  
"Syd?" he motioned to the roll of contact paper he still held in his hand. "Is there a certain reason that you bought contact paper?"  
  
"Actually," Sydney's grin grew. "There is," she assured him, the twinkle in her eye.   
  
"Well?" he waited. Without a word, she took his hand and began to lead him through the kitchen and family room and up the stairs. "What are we doing Syd?"   
  
"You'll see," she replied, still leading the way and the smile obvious in her tone. Opening the door to her bedroom, they entered as she dropped her hand and looked at him.  
  
"What?" Vaughn looked around. "You want me to wallpaper your bedroom with contact paper?"  
  
"No," she laughed. "I like my walls they way they are," she insisted. Instead she walked around the bed to what had quickly become his side of the bedroom and opened the closet door. Then she looked at him, finding his expression blank. "Come here," she urged. Within moments he was by her side as she clasped his hand and walked him into the closet. "That," she pointed to the unopened contact paper in his hands, "is for *that*," she nodded her head. In the back of the walk in closet was a four-drawer dresser. On the bare closet rod were at least two dozen white plastic hangers, obviously new. Finally Sydney met her eyes, her smile giddy and her eyes twinkling, "The closet's yours."  
  
"Are you sure?" he replied.  
  
Sydney laughed and nodded. "Yes. I was sure then and I'm sure now. I mean . . . Okay, your not living out of a backpack now, but the duffel's a little ridiculous too," she insisted, her dimples as wide as he could remember. "Well?" she asked as he surveyed the small walking space.  
  
"You're a genius," he whispered, leaning in and capturing her lips.   
  
"Maybe," she laughed in between kisses. "Mmhm," she regretfully pulled away, his eyes surprised as she smiled. "There's something else," she confessed. Bewildered, Vaughn allowed her to take his hand and lead him out of the closet. A knowing smile on her face, Sydney led him over to her dresser and dropped his hand.  
  
"What are you doing?" he chuckled as she began to search her drawer.  
  
Sydney briefly looked up in the mirror and smiled, "You'll see," she promised. As she began to rummage through her drawers, Vaughn's eyes drew back to their reflection, bouncing back at them off of the dresser mirror.   
  
He took a half step forward, feeling her back brush up against his shirt as he slid his arms effortlessly around her waist. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. The grin on her face grew and her skin seemed to glow as she looked up at him before Sydney turned her attention back to her drawer. Seconds later he watched her pull open her jean drawer. As his eyes watched her search for some unknown object, he couldn't help but wonder if she had any lingerie. After fifteen years alone, he doubted that she'd even consider looking at such items. Not that he minded, he knew long ago that lingerie and tight clothes belonged to other men in a different world. The real Sydney, barefeet and worn denim, belonged only to him.  
  
"Here it is!" Sydney spoke, a small box appearing out of the mass of denim. Squirming in his arms, she lifted herself to sit on the edge of the dark dresser and handed the box to him. "Here."  
  
"You've never given me anything before," he spoke softly, one eyebrow lifting as she shrugged.  
  
"Then it's about time . . . It's really not a gift," she quickly added. "Just open it."  
  
Vaughn cracked a smile as he lifted the top off of the tiny cardboard box. The smile slowly disappeared as he looked up at her, "It's a key."  
  
"It's a key to the back door," she answered, taking it from him and looking at it. "You almost gave me a key once . . . Vaughn, I don't know if I can ever really understand what drove you back into my life. I'm still not sure I completely understand what sent you into my life in the first place . . ." she trailed off, studying the key as he carefully watched her. "A drawer or even a closet isn't enough anymore," Sydney conceded. "It's just not. I want more than that . . . I think you do too," she softly added as he nodded, meeting her eyes. "I don't want you to find an apartment."  
  
"You want to live together," he spoke, his lips curved slightly.  
  
Sydney's eyes dropped, the hair blocking her face before she looked up and smiled, "I do."  
  
"You really are a genius," he teased, leaning in to kiss her again.  
  
Laughing between kisses, she agreed, "Probably," as he laughed. Once again he greedily captured her lips, gently lifting her off of the dresser and towards the bed as any thoughts of their children or upcoming plans vanished.   
  
"Are you nervous or are you mad?" Bryce questioned, lying on the comforter of the hotel room. In between his ear and his shoulder he balanced his cell phone, absently watching a Missouri-Kentucky second round game on television.   
  
Claire sighed, "Why would I be mad?"  
  
"Because you're going home and instead of having your mother all to yourself, you have to share her with someone you don't even know."  
  
"I'm not angry," she insisted as he heard her going about her packing. In a short while Claire would be leaving Stanford for Spring Break, hoping to arrive in Trinidad early Saturday morning. Meanwhile later the next day Bryce, along with his Cardinal teammates, would be playing Brigham Young in the second round of the NCAA tournament. "I mean, she's just going to be staying at the house, I'm sure she'll be spending most of her time with her dad, right?"  
  
"Probably," he agreed.   
  
"She seems nice enough. Anyway, her mom just died a few months ago, so I'm going to try really hard to be extra nice to her."  
  
"Just because her mom died?"  
  
"Well, that and because I think it would mean a lot to my mom if all of us got along."  
  
"So you'll be meeting her before your mom does?"  
  
"Basically. Michael's supposed to pick her up from the airport tomorrow afternoon and drop her off at the house. It'll be up to me to entertain her until they get home later in the evening."  
  
"What are you going to do?"  
  
"I don't know," she sighed and sat down on her bed. "I'm going to let her have my room. I'll sleep on the roll out sofa, I don't mind. Maybe I can show her the pier or the beach or something. I mean she's been living in Arizona, and that's a landlocked state . . . But she is from Los Angeles, so it's not like she hasn't seen a beach . . ." Claire trailed off in dismay.  
  
"Maybe she'll want to sleep or watch television."  
  
"I can hope," she sighed.  
  
"I'm proud of you kid."  
  
"For what?" Claire smiled, getting comfortable on her bed as Laura entered.  
  
"For giving him a chance. I know it can't be easy on you, but you're trying really hard. Who knows, maybe you'll really like Alexandra and it'll make it easier for you to like Mr. Vaughn too."  
  
"I'm giving him a chance on blind faith here. If he hurts her . . . "  
  
"I know, I know, there'll be hell to pay."  
  
"There will be," she huffed. "I really don't want him to hurt her though. I'm not crazy about the idea of a stepfather, but I want her happy."  
  
"He seems decent enough."  
  
"Being a Mets fan doesn't necessarily make you a nice person."  
  
"It should," he huffed.  
  
"I like the Yankees."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you and your thing for Posada Jr."  
  
"He's cute!" she insisted.   
  
"Sure, sure, sure," he teased.  
  
"I have to go Bryce," she realized regretfully. "I'll call you tomorrow?"  
  
"You better kid. Drive safely."  
  
"I will. Get some sleep," she urged as they hung up.   
  
"Ready?" Laura asked, smiling in her friend's direction.  
  
"Hope so," Claire grinned. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm flying out tonight."  
  
"Where are you going?" she questioned, unable to remember.  
  
"Cozumel," she grinned. "I'm so excited. This is the first trip I've ever taken without my family."  
  
"Be careful," she advised.  
  
"I will be, and I won't be alone either, so I'll be fine," Laura promised as they hugged. "Drive safely."  
  
"Thanks," she grinned. "You'll call me, or at least send me a post card?"  
  
"I will, and I'll take a picture of every cute guy so you don't miss out."  
  
Claire laughed and grabbed her duffel. "Thanks. Have fun, and get a tan for me?"  
  
"I'll try," her roommate promised as she disappeared out of the dormitory room.  
  
When Claire arrived in Trinidad, the sun had barely risen over the city yet her house was empty, sans their pets. Understandably her mother had office hours, and after his morning lecture Michael was heading to the airport to pick up Alex. Instead Gehrig and the cats were enthusiastic to greet her, along with a lengthy note from her mother. As excited as she was to see her mother after another lengthy separation, Claire was more than happy for the time at home. With a few hours until Alex's scheduled arrival, she stayed busy picking up her room for her guest and doing her laundry. By the time the BYU-Stanford game started on ESPN, everything was ready and she collapsed onto the family room sofa to watch.  
  
Aware of the time of Alex's flight and the time it took to drive home from the airport, Sydney had advised in her note that Alex would likely be arriving around two thirty or three in the afternoon. That worked out perfectly for Claire, who was able to watch the entire basketball game, a victory that sent Stanford to the NCAA Sweet Sixteen. By the time Vaughn's car pulled into the driveway, around a quarter after three in the afternoon, Claire was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper.  
  
"Hey Claire," Michael smiled as he walked into the kitchen, carrying Alex's duffel. Understandably studying her surroundings, his daughter remained a few steps behind, slower to enter the home. "How was the drive?"  
  
"Pretty good," she smiled and nodded as the other young woman entered.  
  
"Claire, this is Alexandra. Alex, this is Claire," he introduced.  
  
The only comfort was that Alex looked just as uncomfortable as she felt. Bravely Claire smiled at the stranger, "Hi."  
  
"Hi," she nodded.   
  
"Sorry, I have to get going or I'll be late," Vaughn realized. "Claire, your mother is supposed to be home around five thirty, I should get back around six," he explained, dropping a kiss on the top of his daughter's head. "You'll be fine - Claire doesn't bite," he assured her. "Be good," he called to the young woman as he left.  
  
"How was your flight?" Claire asked as Gehrig licked the new woman before retreating to his bed.  
  
"Okay," she nodded.  
  
"Do you want something to drink?" she stood and offered.   
  
"No thanks," she smiled slightly, hugging herself as she shook her head.  
  
"Well . . ." Claire looked desperately around the kitchen. "I could show you to where you'll be staying. I thought you might want to stay in my room. I mean, that way you can just be alone if you want. I know it still has all my stuff, but it's clean and it's a lot more private."  
  
"Sure," Alex agreed, picking up her duffel.   
  
"Okay," Claire nodded. Then she began to lead the other woman through the house, pointing out the downstairs bathroom and the master bedroom as they passed. "This is my room," she explained, opening the door as the end of the small alcove. The room wasn't as large as her one in Arizona, but it had obviously been cleaned and the bed made. "I know it's not much, but like I said, it might be nicer than the roll out."  
  
"It's great," she smiled and set her duffel on the bed. "Thanks."  
  
"Here," she walked her over to the corner dresser. "The three drawers are empty. You can use them while your here, if you want."  
  
"Thanks," she spoke and looked around. "So, when do you go back to school?"  
  
"I just started break. I go back the twenty ninth."  
  
"Stanford, right?"   
  
Claire smiled, "Right."  
  
"Cool," she commented.  
  
"Do you want to do something? Do you have to do laundry? Or we've got food if you're hungry . . . There's a shower, or my mom's bathroom has a big tub if you want."  
  
"Actually," Alex's green eyes finally looked back at her. "I've sort of been sitting on a plane all day. Is there any place to go walking? Like a trail or something."  
  
"We've got a pier."  
  
"A pier would work," she shrugged.  
  
"Okay. Um . . . You might want to take a sweatshirt, it gets kind of chilly down there."  
  
"Sure," she agreed, wrestling through her clothing before she pulled out a large sweatshirt with ARIZONA emblazed on it. "Is the Jeep in the driveway yours?"  
  
"Yep. I'll take you to the pier, and I'll leave you alone then if you want."  
  
"Nah, it's okay," she assured as they left the house.  
  
A little while later they strolled over the calm waters, their sneakers the only sound on the wooden planks. The only noise during the car ride had been Claire asking Alex if the Joni Mitchell CD was okay for the short drive. "This is nice," Alex commented as Claire smiled.  
  
"I love it here. So does my mom."  
  
Alex nodded, "She teaches at Humboldt too, right?"  
  
"She's a professor of English. Everyone says she's going to be named the Chair of the Department at the end of the school year," she eagerly replied.  
  
"Why didn't you go there?"  
  
"They didn't have a field hockey team," Claire chuckled with a shrug. "Plus . . . Everyone there knows me, which is good and bad. I mean, I didn't want to be known *just* as Sydney Bristow's daughter. Everyone there loves my mom too - which is great, because I *obviously* think she's great," she explained. "I just . . . I needed to do something different. So now I'm far enough away that I'm on my own, but close enough that I can get home relatively easily . . ." she trailed off. "Sorry," she whispered.  
  
"Why?" Alex questioned, baffled by her apology.  
  
"Me . . . Going on about my mom like that . . . "  
  
"Oh," Alex sighed. "It's okay. I don't mind."  
  
"Are you okay?" she cautiously asked.  
  
"Sometimes," she shrugged, a half smile on her face. "Sometimes I think taking the leave of absence was a good idea, because at first I had days when I didn't even want to get out of bed . . . Then sometimes I think it was *so* stupid. If I was in school, then I'd *have* to get out of bed, I'd have something else to think about . . . But I get to be with my family. I think mom thought if I stayed in school, I'd just have Matt and I'd feel all alone. I mean, I love Matt, he's a really great guy and I know he'll help me out with whatever I need . . . But I haven't even really known him all that long. Only a few years, really. I've always sort of known him, but for a long time he was just my mom's friend who I saw everyone once in awhile, the guy who sent the really cool Christmas cards . . . That was all," she explained.   
  
"What was she like?" Claire whispered. "If you don't mind me asking," she hurried to add.  
  
"No," she smiled. "I mean . . As long as you don't mind if I cry a little," she chuckled as her companion shook her head. "I don't remember a lot of the funeral . . . I tried to remember, but I really don't. I *do* remember they played Carole King. A few of the songs - she just loved them . . . She had really weird makeup habits," she chuckled, studying her feet as she walked. "She always applied her makeup at the kitchen table, *always* - and sometimes she even did it in her bathrobe," she remembered.   
  
Next to her Claire smiled as she silently waited for her to continue. "She always went outside to the deck to do her eyebrows too. Apparently her mom did, and natural sunlight is the best way to do it or something," she shrugged. "Mom *loved* shoes. She had so many types, styles and materials and colors . . . And she had to have worn all of them at least a dozen times. Most people build an outfit around a dress, but my mom usually built her wardrobe around her shoes," Alex sniffled, wiping away a budding tear. "Charles Schultz was the reason she wanted to be an illustrator. She *loved* Charlie Brown, she even had all of his animated television specials on tape. If I'd been a boy, she was going to name me Charles after him," she remembered. "Sometimes she'd make public appearances or speeches and she'd take me. We'd always drive too, sometimes for hours . . . " she briefly paused, the smile growing on her face and even in her wet eyes. "We'd sing Carole King's version of the theme song from Gilmore Girls - you know the one?"  
  
Claire nodded, "I've seen Gilmore Girls on TV Land."  
  
"Yeah," Alex smiled at her. "Me too. We'd sing that song all the time in the car. She just *loved* Carole King, and Elton John, and Fleetwood Mac - all these bands from the 1970's and 1980's, and of course now I like them . . . " she trailed off, wiping away her tears.   
  
"She sounds like she was really great."  
  
"She was," she sniffled, a smile on her raw features.  
  
"I can't imagine doing through that," Claire softly confessed. "I'm so sorry, I can't imagine how hard that must be . . ."  
  
Alex curiously glanced over at her and inquired, "Your dad?"  
  
Sighing, she leaned against the rail of the pier. "I think about him sometimes, but I don't think that counts as missing him . . . I never really knew him. I do wonder about him sometimes," she conceded, sharing with this stranger something she'd never divulged to anyone else. "I know it'll never happen, but I imagine that my Dad would come back . . . He left when I was a baby, and he was a really bad alcoholic. A horrible person . . . Sometimes I imagine he comes back though. That he's clean and that all he wants in life is to know me, to be this really great father . . . To take me to Kings games and ask me about school and question any boy I like . . . In my mind, he's just like my Uncle Will," she confessed. "So, I mean, I never knew my birth dad . . . I have a few pictures of me with him, but I don't really look at them. I can't really say I miss him, because I never knew him, but I've always had my Uncle Will."  
  
"I'm sorry you never knew him."  
  
"Nah," she dismissed. "Your mom sounds like she was a great person, and I used to read her cartoon strip, she was great. My father wasn't like that. Plus, I mean I've always had my Uncle Will. Anything I ever needed from a father, he gave me. He even came up every year of high school for the father/daughter dance, and came up for my prom and a few weeks later for my graduation."  
  
"Is he your mom's brother?"  
  
"No," she shook her head. "Uncle Will is my mom's best friend in the world. They've known each other since college . . . They've been through a *lot* together. He's my godfather too . . . I can't imagine losing him or my mom . . ."  
  
"My mom was sick," Alex explained, wiping away the remnants of her walk down memory lane. "She was in so much pain . . . Everyone say's she's in a better place, that she's no longer suffering . . . But that doesn't help," she sighed. "I don't know how people expect me to believe it's a better place if it took her away from the people she loved . . . I'm still mad at her," she whispered against the wind. "Part of me is still *so* mad that she left, that she gave up . . . No matter how much my head says that she didn't give up, she didn't have a choice . . . Part me of me can't help it," she confessed. "I just keep *hoping* and *praying* that one day I won't be angry anymore, that thinking about her won't make me cry . . . "  
  
"What are you going to do?"  
  
"I'm going to be a doctor, eventually," Alex shrugged. "I don't know. Part of me wants to go back to Arizona. It *is* the house that my mom and I lived in for awhile, and I know Matt would like it, but part of me . . . I don't know what to do. I mean, I know I'm almost a legal adult, twenty-one and all of that, but part me . . . I'm nineteen years old, I still sort of feel like my place in life is supposed to be where my mom is, or at least not too far from her."  
  
"What do you think she'd want you to do?"  
  
"Be happy," she chuckled. "If I can ever figure out how again."  
  
Claire looked at her new friend in awe. The worse loss she'd ever suffered in her life was her Uncle Rick's sudden death. He hadn't suffered, and she couldn't imagine all that Alex had gone though. Rick had been fine, no one had ever had to see him suffer. As heavy as her regret of never having a true goodbye felt, she knew in that moment having to helplessly watch someone you love slowly deteriorate had to be far more painful.  
  
"I hope you find it soon."  
  
"Yeah," Alex tossed her a half smile. "Me too."  
  
The engine died as Claire effortlessly turned the key. In front of them the two cars, evidence of their parent's presence, sat in the driveway. Cautiously she pulled the key out of the ignition and turned towards her newly found friend. "Are you ready for this?"  
  
"She sounds really nice," Alex spoke, her voice distant as her eyes seemed fixated on an invisible object in front of her. "I mean . . . I know she's really nice. Everyone's said it, my dad, you . . . even my mom . . . "  
  
"Your mom said my mom was nice?"   
  
"Yeah," Alex chuckled and looked over at Claire. "Weird, huh?"  
  
"A little," she hesitantly admitted. "My mom doesn't get nervous very easily . . . She's a really strong person. . . So strong, I envy her," Claire admitted. "I know this probably doesn't make it any easier, but I know how anxious she is about meeting you. I know she really wants you to like her."  
  
"I promised my mom I would try," she explained, forcing a smile. "So I'm really going to try."  
  
"I didn't want to meet your dad," she added. "I was mean to him when I first met him . . . I've had my mom all to myself for most of my life, and I really didn't like sharing that. I still don't."  
  
"I hated sharing my mom with Matt. I did like him, sometimes . . . Most of the time," Alex sighed. "He took care of her and made her happy, but there were times where I felt like it would have been easier for them if I wasn't around . . . There were times when I just wanted her to myself, or for her to stop paying so much attention to him and pay attention to me . . . Sometimes it was just so damn hard to see her with someone other than my father."  
  
"I'm sorry," Claire blurted.  
  
"No," Alex quickly dismissed. "Don't be. It's certainly not your fault they got divorced . . . Not even your mother's fault . . . Sometimes people just get divorced. It sucks and it breaks your heart, but there's nothing anyone can do about it."  
  
"Do you think about it a lot?"  
  
"Probably more than I should . . . Right before mom married Matt, after they got engaged, I was obsessed with it. Even before they were officially engaged . . . Everyone knew what was coming. I have this entire journal that goes on and on about how unfair it is . . . And I still think it's unfair, but I don't think there's anything anyone could have done to change what happened."  
  
"That doesn't make it any easier to deal with."  
  
"It doesn't," she agreed. Sucking in deeply, she turned towards Claire and tried to smile, "I think I'm ready though."  
  
"Okay," she smiled as they slowly got out of the Jeep. Without a word the brunette led her through the back gate and into the yard as Gehrig began to boisterously bark from inside the confines of his kitchen. "His bark is so worse than his bite," Claire assured her, hoping to relieve the tension.  
  
"He's too small for anything else," Alex chuckled as they climbed the aging concrete steps. "A key?" she spoke as the other woman went to open the door.  
  
"Oh. We usually don't lock the door, especially if mom is home," she explained. Then she opened the door and allowed them into the house. "Mom, Michael, we're home!" she called into the empty room as Gehrig rushed by them to the backyard.   
  
"Hey, where'd you two go?" Vaughn smiled, striding easily into the kitchen.  
  
"Claire took me to the pier. It's really nice there," Alex explained, shrugging off her coat.  
  
"Oh," he grinned in surprise in Claire's direction. "That was really nice of you. Did you two have a nice time?"  
  
"It was fine," Claire shrugged.   
  
Alex spoke softly, "Where's Sydney?"  
  
Vaughn turned his eyes to his daughter and smiled softly, "she'll be right down sweetheart," he explained. "We ordered dinner - pizza. I hope that's okay with you two."  
  
"As long as it doesn't have mushrooms or anchovies, I'll eat it," Claire assured him, reaching for something to drink from the refrigerator and offering something to Alex as well.  
  
"We made sure that there aren't any inappropriate toppings," Vaughn assured her. Instinctively he picked up on the sound of Sydney's bare feet approaching as he glanced over his shoulder, offering Alex his strength with a smile as he met her uncertain eyes.  
  
"Hi," Sydney greeted as Claire sat down at the table and silently smiled at her mother.  
  
"Alex," Vaughn gently placed his hand on his daughter's elbow as they turned to look at Sydney. "This is Sydney Bristow. Syd, this is my daughter, Alexandra."  
  
Near silence, the only sound Zelda's soft purring from Claire's lap, swaddled the room. It only lasted a moment, perhaps two, but Vaughn was left to bask in the magnitude. After all the road bumps and errors along the way, he still somehow managed to stand in the same room with three women he was certain had to be the most beautiful and amazing in the world. The three women who meant everything to him - a category Claire had unknowingly wielded herself into, and would forever remain, whether she wanted the title or not.  
  
"It's nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you," Sydney smiled and shook the younger woman's hand.  
  
"Thank you," Alex replied, her voice slightly cracking. "Dad's said a lot about you too," she added. "You have a really nice house."  
  
"Thank you," she nodded. "I hope your flight was okay."  
  
"For the most part," Alex rolled her eyes. "Airplane food sucks."  
  
"Yes," Sydney laughed. "I remember. It does," she agreed. Standing by Sydney's side, Vaughn looked over Alex's shoulder and smiled at Claire, relieved when she reluctantly returned the gesture.   
  
"Do you travel a lot?"  
  
"I used to," she answered. "For work, when I was younger. Claire and I go to Los Angeles and Seattle once a year during the holidays, but that's about it now."  
  
"Did you always live in L.A.?"  
  
"We moved when I was . . . three," Sydney recalled. "I was born in West Virginia."  
  
"I've never been further east than Illinois," Alex shrugged.   
  
The four sat down around the kitchen table as Vaughn spoke up, "Did you get to look at those colleges?"  
  
"Yeah. I wasn't too happy with the college in Lake Forest, but DePaul and U of Chicago are nice."  
  
"I set up a tour of the Humboldt campus for you if you're interested. I arranged it so you could take your dad too, if you'd like," she added.  
  
"Haven't you taught there for like twenty years?" Alex asked, the lines of confusion etched across her forehead.   
  
"Well, yes," she answered, briefly meeting Vaughn's eyes. "Nineteen, actually."  
  
"Then why don't you give me the tour?" she suggested. "I mean, no offense dad, but you've been here what, a day? If I'm going to go to school here, I'm going to live there, so I'd like the person who shows me the campus to actually know it better than I do."  
  
"She's got a point," Claire muttered.  
  
"You want *me* to show you the campus?" Sydney questioned.  
  
"Sure," she shrugged. "How big can it really be? I mean, if you've got the time."  
  
"Of course," she quickly assured her. "I mean . . . If your dad doesn't mind."  
  
"No," Vaughn shook his head, fighting back too big of a smile. "That's fine sweetheart, if it's what you want."  
  
"Tomorrow, maybe?" Alex turned to Sydney.   
  
"That'd be fine," the older woman nodded, still battling with her obvious surprise. "If you like the school, I have some friends in admissions who can talk to you about transferring. They could help you transfer wherever you want, even if it's not Humboldt," she offered.  
  
"I have a counselor back at Arizona . . . I should probably e-mail him soon . . . " she remembered. "Did you go to Stanford too?" Alex looked at her father's girlfriend, remembering that it was Claire's college.  
  
"No. UCLA, undergrad and graduate."  
  
"That's a nice campus," Alex commented.  
  
"At the time I was just happy to be out of my house . . . Did you live on campus at Arizona?"  
  
"No, I lived at home," she answered.  
  
"Dorms are great," Claire spoke up. Skeptically the young blonde woman looked at her. "Okay," she sighed. "They're not really great, but they do allow a whole new look at the world," she smirked.  
  
"I would hate having a roommate."  
  
"They're not too bad," Claire insisted. "I love Laura . . . It's weird sometimes, basically sharing your life with this total stranger, but it helps you learn cooperation, compromise and communication."  
  
Taking a sip of his soda, Vaughn murmured, "Sounds like something from the university handbook."  
  
"It is, actually," the young brunette chuckled. "Dorms are scary, but I'm having a lot of fun."  
  
"Frosh, right?" Alex questioned.  
  
Claire's nose wrinkled in disgust, "I hate that word."  
  
"You won't as soon as it doesn't apply to you," the blonde laughed. "The first year only lasts one year. That's it, then it's over and you're free to torture the next class of unsuspecting newbies."  
  
"I don't think I will," she dismissed. "I don't have enough interest or time to bother annoying other people. Well, other than Bryce," she added as an afterthought.  
  
"Who's he?"  
  
"Just a guy . . . Okay, well, he's more than just a guy - he's sort of my boyfriend . . ." she muttered the confession, her cheek's burning. Quickly she continued, "He's from school. We've known each other for about . . . six months now," she explained, smiling brightly at Alex. "He's cute."  
  
"Hot cute or goofy cute?"  
  
"Hot cute," she immediately replied, the color rising higher on her cheeks. For a moment memories of a long ago conversation flashed in Sydney's mind, the red of the restaurant walls matching the single red rose that Francie had carefully placed on every table, and the look of surprise when she confessed to having a crush on a coworker. Out of the corner of her eye she looked at the man at her side, surprised that he was there again, perhaps exactly where they each belonged, after everyone else had considered it impossible. Vaughn noticed her gaze and effortlessly captured her eyes, holding her brown eyes with his and smiled.  
  
"Do you have a picture?" Alex questioned.  
  
"Bryce seems like a nice guy, but I really don't need or want to hear this conversation," Vaughn teased, slowly standing up as Sydney laughed.   
  
"Not every Mets fan is a nice person," Claire tossed casually in Vaughn's direction.  
  
Alex looked up, the thought of an unkind Mets fan foreign to her. "You don't like the Mets?"  
  
"Yankees," Claire and Sydney answered in unison. As he stood, he looked down at Sydney and rolled his green eyes as he connected directly with her brown.   
  
"Anyway, I don't think I have any pictures of Bryce with me, but there are some on the Cardinals website," Claire began, returning to the original conversation.  
  
"He plays sports?"  
  
"Basketball," Claire proudly gushed. "He's good too. Very good."   
  
"Show me later?" Alex requested as Vaughn rolled his eyes subtlety at Sydney.   
  
"I think dinner's here," Sydney noted as they heard a car pull into the driveway.  
  
"I'll get plates and napkins," Claire declared as she stood.  
  
Instantly the blonde woman joined her, "I'll help," she offered, taking Claire's direction as Vaughn and Sydney went to get the pizza.   
  
"Vaughn . . . If you want to show Alex around Humboldt instead -"  
  
"Syd," he cut her off, quietly handing the delivery boy his money and taking the pizza. "I think it's great," he answered honestly. "I think she likes you."  
  
"I hope so," she sighed softly, an uncertainty she hadn't felt in decades creeping over her.  
  
"I know so," he gently caught her hand. "Trust me," he leaned over to briefly kiss her.   
  
"Don't promise me happily ever after Vaughn," Sydney softly warned, her eyes serious as the kiss broke.   
  
"I'm not going to start making promises I can't keep now Syd. Not this late in the game."  
  
Even in the dim light of the porch, he watched her head bob before she met his eyes and granted him a small smile. "Good," she agreed. "The pizza's getting cold," she noted, her smile turning into a silly grin.  
  
"Let's go," he smiled as he led her back into the house.  
  
The house was eerily quiet when Claire woke up the next morning. After she tossed the quilt aside, she slid her feet into her slippers. As she peered out the French doors, she saw that Gehrig was quietly making his way around the yard, enjoying himself immensely under the uncharacteristically warm March sun. She grabbed her sweatshirt off of the back of the sofa to protect her from the morning chill that often blanketed the home, and started towards the kitchen.  
  
To her disappointment, she walked into the room to find only Michael. He'd obviously been up for sometime, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, reading the sports section. At the sound of her footsteps, he glanced up and smiled at her, just a twinge of awkwardness to validate the slight unease she felt. "Hey," she greeted casually, grabbing a glass and pouring herself some orange juice. "Where's my mom?"  
  
"She took Alex for a tour of the campus. They should be back around lunch," he explained as she slid into her normal place at the end of the table.   
  
"Oh," Claire sighed. "What about you?"  
  
"Nothing today," he smiled pleasantly at her. "How'd you sleep?"  
  
"Okay," she shrugged. Reaching over, she took another section of the paper, and struggled to read it as he made his way effortlessly through the sports section. Finally, she tossed the paper aside, causing Vaughn to look up in concern. "How do you know about my grandmother?"  
  
Vaughn sighed, unable to look at her and slowly put down his paper. "Claire . . . "  
  
"Don't patronize me. I want to know."  
  
"Your mother really should be the one -"  
  
"She won't tell me! She'll never tell me!"   
  
"It doesn't matter," he insisted, finally meeting her eyes, stating his conviction. "She's your grandmother Claire . . . It doesn't matter how I know about her. It shouldn't matter . . . All that matters is for all of your life . . . " he paused, struggling to state what he knew to be the truth. "For all of your life, she's been a . . . She's been a good grandmother Claire. She loves you and loves your mother . . . You're a very lucky young woman. You have a family that is small but would do *anything* for you . . . That makes you luckier than so many people at your age," he explained, mentally adding that Claire had fared better at eighteen than her mother had. Your grandparents and mother love you very much, that will always be there for you . . . What I do or don't know, how I know about your grandmother, is irrelevant."  
  
"Why won't you just tell me?"  
  
Vaughn sighed, "Because I can't," he explained. "For various reasons . . . The most important being that it's your mother's decision. You have to realize that your mother would never make a decision like that unless she felt it was in your best interest. Your grandmother is a good grandmother and she was . . . She *is* a good mother," he admitted, although the words left a slightly metallic taste on his tongue.   
  
"I know it's difficult to imagine that parents and grandparents had lives before yours started . . . But they did, and in a lot of ways it doesn't matter who they were or what they did. One thing I've learned Claire, is that it doesn't matter . . . When a person is gone, when a relationship has to end because of death . . . " he paused, taking a deep breath and paused to consider his thoughts. Visions of the painful days after Sydney's apparent death still burned in his soul as he struggled to implant a lesson in Claire that had taken him nearly half a lifetime to learn. "When a person is gone, it doesn't matter what the rest of the world saw in them . . . It doesn't matter what the rest of the world thought of them or anything beyond your relationship with them. All that matters Claire, all that *should* matter to you, is the relationship you have with your grandmother. No one lives forever Claire, no matter how much we love them, so we can only love them as best we can and focus on what they give back to us, not how they interact with the rest of the world."  
  
"You really loved her, didn't you?" Claire whispered, her brown eyes wide. At his confused expression, the teenager clarified. "My mother. You were nuts about her, weren't you?"  
  
"It nearly killed me," he whispered, his eyes pained and obviously far away in a distant memory. "And the crazy thing is that I still love her that way," he added. "No matter how much I convinced myself I'd moved past it . . . That it was only just a memory . . . All I have to do is look or even *think* about your mother, and it's still as real as it ever was."  
  
"I want to love someone like that," she whispered, her brown eyes drawn to the top of the kitchen table.  
  
"I hope you do," Vaughn sincerely spoke. "And I hope that if you do, you never lose it until you're too old to realize it."  
  
"Me too," she smiled briefly at him. "So, what are your plans today?" she inquired, the subject effectively shut as she stood and searched for breakfast.  
  
"Oregon."  
  
"Excuse me?" Claire paused to look at him over her shoulder.  
  
"There's a rink just over the state line in Oregon. An ice rink. I'm going to teach you to ice skate and play ice hockey."  
  
"Oregon? What about my mother?"   
  
Vaughn chuckled, "She knows."  
  
"Oregon . . . That's a long drive . . . "  
  
"Two hours, give or take," he shrugged. "It'll be fun Claire. I'll even let you pick the music we listen to."  
  
Sighing, she turned to fully look at him, "Why?"   
  
"Just because," he shrugged. Because he'd always love Sydney Bristow, and because she was Claire Bristow, a perfect extension of the woman he loved. Perhaps she'd never be his, there was a chance that Claire would never truly regard him as anything more than something on the sole of her shoe, much the same approach that Jack Bristow would likely feel towards him forever, but he couldn't imagine loving her as though she was anything short of his own flesh and blood daughter.  
  
Claire sighed with frustration and started out of the kitchen. "Where are you going?" he called.  
  
"I have to find a sweater!" she rolled her eyes in his direction, causing him to laugh as she charged impatiently up the stairs.  
  
A short distance away, Alex walked along the well kept grounds of Humboldt State with Sydney. More than once during their morning walk they'd been stopped, making it obvious that Professor Bristow was equally popular with her students and colleagues. To each and every person who'd approached them, Sydney had introduced Alex with just a hint of pride in her voice, explaining that the young woman was considering a transfer to the college. Everyone had wished Alex luck, leaving her in awe of the friendly group of people.  
  
"It really is beautiful here," Alex finally spoke. They'd walked by and through several academic and main campus buildings as Sydney answered her various questions to the best she could. Cars were allowed on campus, although she noted that most students seemed to ride a bike, walk and even a few appeared to be rollerblading through campus.   
  
"I'd only seen photos when I first moved here, but it's even more beautiful now," she agreed. "I think Professor McKeon was impressed when you spoke with him."  
  
"He seemed really nice," she nodded, remembering her recent conversation with the head of the college's biology department.  
  
"If you are interested in medical school, he'd be a fantastic person to talk to. He completed medical school and two years of a surgical residency before he went on to get his masters and PhD in biology," Sydney explained.  
  
"Where'd he go?"  
  
"UCLA Medical, I think," she answered. "I'm not positive though. I'm sure he'd be happy to answer any questions you might have, regardless of where you end up. Lainie is an admissions counselor, she wasn't there today but we've been friends for awhile . . . She worked at several universities before she decided to work here until she retired. I'm sure she'd be happy to help you work out a transfer if that's what you decide. Even if it's not at Humboldt, since she's familiar with a lot of the policies."  
  
"I probably should . . . To insure that my credits will transfer and that I won't have to worry about being behind . . . " Alex sighed, looking around the campus. "I like college," she confessed. "I like *this* college too," she added.   
  
Sydney nodded, their pace steadily slowing as she gently prodded, "But?"  
  
"I can't imagine graduating college . . . I swear, it seems like it was just yesterday when I was a freshman in high school and I thought graduating high school was light years away . . . I guess I just can't imagine graduating college without my mom being there," she confessed and looked to Sydney.  
  
"I understand," she smiled briefly and looked down at her feet. After a few steps Sydney looked straight ahead and explained, "My mother never saw me graduate either . . . Well, except from kindergarten."  
  
"She didn't?"  
  
"No," Sydney sighed and shook her head. "I lost her when I was six . . . It was the November after I started first grade. I remember it was so hard because she was there for the class Halloween party - she'd baked and sewn my costume and then . . . just a few weeks later, for Thanksgiving, she was just . . . gone . . ."  
  
"I didn't know," Alex spoke softly.  
  
"There's no way you could have," she assured her with a slight smile. "My father . . . Your father's trying, very hard, to make this easier for you . . . Something my father was never able to do," she added. In fact, in a situation eerily similar to what Vaughn had experienced after her own apparent death, her father had been seemingly incapacitated with grief for the first six months following Laura Bristow's "death". For the first time in her life she noticed the similarities, wishing that she'd noticed the obvious years before and reconciled herself that if Jack could still love Irina after all the betrayals and years of resentment, Vaughn surely must have loved her, even when he was with Kate. He'd loved Kate, he'd promised her his life and had lived up to that promise as best he could, but when it came down to it, Sydney owned his heart and soul and likely always would.  
  
"How did you do it?"  
  
"One day at a time," she tossed her a half smile and a shrug. "That's the only way you can do anything . . . It's difficult, when all of your friends have mothers . . . There's no easy way to explain it, and no matter how old you get, the looks of pity are always there . . . There are always people who love you, people who want to help . . . Even people in your life who will step in to the role of a mother when you need it," Sydney explained, her mind drawing back to the late Emily Sloane and how desperately she'd loved Emily, the only mother she'd known for so much of her life. Nearly all of the qualities she'd wanted to be as a mother primarily came from what she'd learned from Emily. "No one will ever be your mother Alex, no one should ever even try . . . I promise I will never try to take that role either," she softly vowed as the women stopped to face each other. "If you need to talk . . . If you need a place to stay . . . I'll help you in whatever way I can, but I will *never* try to take the place of your mother. No one should ever try to disrespect your mother's memory by doing that."  
  
"I know," she blinked away brief tears. "Thank you Sydney."  
  
"Your welcome," she smiled sincerely at the younger woman. "Are you hungry?"  
  
"I was too nervous to eat this morning," Alex admitted.  
  
"Let's go get something to eat," she offered with a smile.   
  
"That sounds great," she smiled as they leisurely walked along the campus, back to the parking lot in destination of an early lunch.  
  
Dinner wasn't until late in the evening, after Claire and Vaughn returned from their impromptu trip north. Claire all but bounced into the house, anticipating relaying every little detail of her journey on the ice to her mother. Judging by the softness in Vaughn's eyes and the excited color on his cheeks, his attempt to strike a common ground with Claire had been more successful than he'd dared to hope. Afterwards Alex shared her campus tales with Claire, and the Trinidad native shared stories of various students and college employees that she could recall from over the years. When their parents walked in to the family room to ask about dinner, they were surprised at the comfortable sight. Claire sat on the floor in front of the television, playing Zelda while Alex sat on the sofa, writing a letter to her cousin. A relatively simple sight, Sydney struggled not to be alarmed at how comfortable and happy the situation left her as he had reached over to squeeze her hand, understanding instinctively how she felt.  
  
"Who was on the phone?" Sydney asked late that night, raising her head from the bubbles. After a long day and a dinner with a few awkward pauses, the girls had gone out. Claire was going to a friend's house and had invited Alex along. Not interested in being home alone with her father and his new girlfriend, she had taken the offer. With the two girl's gone, Vaughn had excused himself to work on his lecture while she soaked in a much deserved bubble bath.  
  
"Alex," he smiled and slowly lowered his body to the floor next to the tub. Sydney smiled as she rested her head against the padded side of the sofa. "She said they'll be home later. I guess Jake went out for pizza and they're going to stay some longer and play some air hockey or pool."  
  
"They're safe there," she promised. Vaughn's green eyes remained on her as she sank lower into the tub, the bubbles right under her earlobes. Even with the bubbles surrounding her, he could sense her relaxing, her body melting in the warm tub. Though the excitement in her eyes over meeting Alex was legitimate, he had seen and understood her anxiety. To his delight, his daughter seemed to like Sydney, the two talking more easily over dinner than they had the previous evening. The transition would take time, for all four of them, but there wasn't a doubt in his soul that it would happen.  
  
"I love you," he spoke softly.  
  
Sydney looked up, her face straight and her expression sincere. "I love you too," she spoke, holding her hand out to him. Uncaring that her hand was wet, he took it in both of his and kissed it. As his lips grazed her skin, a tiny smile fluttered over her face as she rested her head back against the tub.  
  
Watching her, half awake in the warm bath water, he loved her more than ever. He loved that there was no giddiness in her statement. All that was there in her words was a sincere statement of fact. The rest of the world would progress, with and eventually without them; their lives would always go on, but her love for him and his love for her would forever remain the same. 


	13. Epilogue

Epilogue  
  
When he started college, over half a century ago, he'd kept waiting for the day to arrive. Not the day he could legally drink, not the day that rung in his first spring break, but the day in which he finally woke up and felt like an adult. The day when he'd wake up and feel completely confident in taking over the world, the day when he deemed himself an adult in every context of the word, not just a legal term. The day never game. It slowly permeated into his life , beginning with his arrival in the Georgetown dorms. Graduation, signing the rental agreement on his first apartment, the beginning of his clandestine service training with the CIA . . . None of these happened overnight. Instead adulthood had been slowly dropped into his then-naive existence until it was just commonplace to depend on no one but himself. Somehow Michael Vaughn had always thought that deciding he was 'old' would be a different process.  
  
Instead it started just as slowly. Now he watched more hockey than he played. Glasses were necessary when he read. Getting up and down the stairs and even out of chairs took a few moments longer. Even his eventual retirement from teaching hadn't made him feel old. The time to himself, the time for his own life and own interests, had made him feel free. There were leisurely trips to take, people to see, family to visit. There was always something to keep him busy. So busy, too caught up in the generally happy existence he had found, that the realization of his upcoming seventy-eighth birthday came as a less than pleasant surprise.  
  
Life for him was no longer marked by the passing of years but the life milestones. That was what the upcoming weekend was for, to celebrate another one of his life milestones. Not his birthday - not yet, anyway, as he found himself increasingly grateful for the nearly two months that still separated him from seventy-eight. He had aged reasonably well, proven by the fact that they still lived independently in the two-story house, caring for the entire property without assistance. He managed to stay involved in sports and was currently the play-by-play announcer for the college radio station during the college athletic season. There was always at least two trips to Los Angeles a year to see Kings games and, until recently, catch up with friends.  
  
The most notable aspect of aging was the loss of friends and aging of your children. Dixon had passed on years before, eventually losing his brave battle with cancer. Sixteen months earlier he'd lost Eric Weiss, one of the few people he'd always counted on even during his most idiotic moments. Eric had died peacefully in his sleep, settled comfortably next to the woman he had spent his life with, unaware that anything was happening. Losing him had been difficult, far more difficult than Vaughn had anticipated, having thought the loss would be less painful with the geographical distance between them. They'd gone to Los Angeles for nearly a month, helping Meg and mourning with his family. Then they'd returned to Trinidad, to their life together.  
  
That was the purpose of that upcoming weekend - a quiet yet remarkable celebration. That weekend would mark their twentieth wedding anniversary. Not as long as he'd at one time hoped, but far longer than he'd ever allowed himself to dream. They hadn't planned the wedding - in fact he believed the party had taken more planning then the actual event. The ceremony was unplanned, the result of a brief moment of spontaneity. He'd finally taken her to Santa Barbara, shown her the things he'd spent nearly half his life imagining. On their third day there they married, a small ceremony with just Claire and Alex in attendance. Sydney had looked perfect that day, as beautiful as he'd ever seen one woman look. He'd gazed at her in open adoration, not seeing the lines and wrinkles, crows feet and gray hairs of a fifty-one year old, but the flawless features of the twenty-six year old he'd fallen in love with. That's what he always saw when he looked at her, unaware and uncaring of the passage of time, just that she was there and she was his.  
  
The ceremony was perfect, marking the first day of their life as husband and wife and the twenty-fifth anniversary of their first introduction. Afterwards the newly christened family of four went out to dinner before Vaughn and Sydney returned to the hotel room alone. Claire had driven back to Stanford, still early in to her sophomore year, while Alex spent the night at her Aunt Megan and Uncle Eric's in Los Angeles. The following morning Alex had flown back to Arcata, where she started up her studies again with a double major in chemistry and biology.  
  
Neither one of their girls turned out to be who they envisioned. Neither had an easy path, no matter how badly their parents had wished they would. No amount of praying or advice could save Claire and Alex from the painful trials in life, the faults and events that each and every person had to contend with. Both chose their own ways, uncaring of the rest of the world's views and opinions, only in following their hearts.  
  
Almost nine months after Sydney and Vaughn were married, Bryce O'Neal was drafted into the NBA. No one was more ecstatic than Claire, who ambitiously continued the long distance relationship when her beau was picked fourteenth and had to relocate to Washington D.C. Two years passed between the start of his NBA career and her Stanford graduation. Somehow they beat the odds, managing to see one another whenever possible. In the meantime Alex had graduated as valedictorian of Humboldt State University and prepared to begin the following fall at Stanford Medical School.  
  
Subsequently Alex and Claire were relocated to the same campus for one academic year. To the surprise of their parents, they were friends. A late afternoon walk along the Trinidad Pier had cemented that early on. They'd never stay up late into the night to divulge the secrets of their souls, but they counted on and trusted one another. Alex proudly rooted for the Washington Wizard's during Bryce's run there, aware of how important it was to Claire, and during their one year in the same city Claire was known to make frequent stops by Alex's apartment to bring her overstressed stepsibling soda or the basic necessities.  
  
Alex was the one who tried unsuccessfully to convince her stepsibling out of her cross-country move following graduation. Two months after Claire graduated with her degree in Economics, she married Bryce O'Neal. Laura had stood up as her maid of honor, with Alex acting as her sole bridesmaid. Vaughn had sat proudly in the front row during the ceremony, but hadn't been at all surprised or even offended when the honor of escorting her down the aisle was shared by Will Tippin and Jack Bristow.  
  
Claire didn't remain as just the wife of an NBA player for long. Within weeks of her marriage she began an ambitious program in Economics at Georgetown, the alma mater of her stepfather. During the following three years Vaughn and Sydney didn't see much of either of their daughters. They'd fly out to see Claire and Alex, rotating between who to visit during school breaks. Jack Bristow made an appearance at the newlyweds home up to four times a year, always announcing his intentions of visiting but never completely keen on having a grandson-in-law who spent more of the year on the road than at home with his granddaughter.  
  
2032, the year that would eventually mark their sixth year anniversary and his sixty forth birthday, started and ended with a bang. The entire family had come out to start the New Year, a rare event. Alex was as pale as he'd ever seen her, but managed to carry a glow that came from pure happiness. After nearly four years of medical school, she was near the finishing line, and was anticipating where she'd be matched for a residency come March. Claire and Bryce had come in together, Alex having swung by the airport on her drive up and brought them with her. Two and a half years of marriage and they were as happy as ever. His NBA career had taken off, and there were talks of his team resigning him to another three year contract. He'd never be a Jordan or a Barkley, but Bryce O'Neal was on the way to making a respectable professional career for himself.  
  
Two weeks into the new year was when it all began to fall apart. Claire had arrived on their door Saturday morning, having flown in alone the night before. The visit was unplanned but pleasant, although the news she dropped on them was entirely unexpected. Thanks to her grandfather's help, she was going to be taking a position as an economic analyst for none other than the CIA office in Washington D.C. If that wasn't enough, she was also expecting her first child with Bryce that fall.  
  
Claire would be almost a quarter of a century old when her child arrived, and there were no doubts in Sydney's mind that the baby would have a loving, happy home. Even so she was surprised, and even more surprised that the CIA would welcome an asset that would have to take maternity leave so soon into her tenure. Still, she also knew her father and husband and suspected they had more remaining connections than he let on. Even in his early eighties Jack Bristow managed to be the most intimidating man she'd even encountered and when it came to those he loved, no one was more determined to get their way than Michael Vaughn, regardless of his age.  
  
February came and quickly went, blowing furiously into March. Early in the month Alex received her match. That summer she'd begin her residency in Internal Medicine at Cedar-Sinai in Los Angeles. The match was as close to perfection as she'd dared to hope. With a program in Internal Medicine, it was feasible that in three years time she could be applying to an oncology program somewhere in California. Plus working at Cedar-Sinai gave her connections, and Alex knew that connections were just as valuable as legitimate talent.  
  
The end of the basketball season came sooner than expected for Bryce that year. During a shoot out prior to an NBA game, he'd collapsed on the court. Roughly three months pregnant, Claire had taken the red-eye out to Chicago to be by her husband's side. The prognosis was not a good one. A previously undetected heart ailment now plagued the young star. Something that had never been picked up before in team physicals, a condition that perhaps hadn't even developed until recently, was now brought to the forefront. The doctors in Chicago offered them very little hope, diagnosing him with the end stages of heart failure.  
  
Being a Bristow, it was no surprise to Michael Vaughn that there wasn't even a slightly tremor in her voice when Claire Bristow O'Neal delivered the news of Bryce's condition. It was even less of a surprise when Claire and Sydney spent nearly a week afterwards arguing over the phone. With the baby on the way and Bryce's health condition, Sydney wanted to take a sabbatical or at least a short amount of time off to come out and help. Claire promptly declined any offers of help that her mother, or anyone else, extended. With no other options, Sydney backed off of her argument, but her daughter heard the offer in every conversation they had from then on.  
  
Instead of letting people come out and help them take care of the situation, she and her husband embarked on a nearly five month odyssey. Together they tracked across the country, meeting with every specialist and reputable cardiologist they could find. Claire intended to stay by Bryce's side for as long as possible, but on a Friday in July the doctor told her the following week's journey to California hospital would be her last. She was getting to be too far along in her pregnancy to travel with her husband, and slowly Bryce's condition was becoming too much of a burden for her to handle alone.  
  
Alex had met them at the doors of the hospital. She'd taken the rare vacation time she had during her first year of internship to meet them there. It had been months since she'd seen Claire, and what took her by surprise was not how pregnant but how tired Claire looked. More tired than Alex did, and she'd just begun the horrible ritual of pulling fifty to sixty hour weekly work shifts. Even so Alex had helped them get settled in and forced Claire out of the hospital once Bryce was in. The tests would take a minimum of three hours - there was nothing to do in the meantime. Instead she offered to stay with him, and ordered her stepsister out to get a temporary break.  
  
That was how Claire ended up in her mother's driveway that day, on what would turn out to be one of the more bittersweet days of Michael Vaughn's life. Getting off the highway, Claire had almost driven off the road even though the streets of Trinidad were as familiar to her as the pattern of the freckles on her face. The tears that she had spent so long holding back could no longer be contained. In a relatively small number of months, everything had slowly started to fall apart. Somehow she managed to open the back gate and climb the stairs, knocking loudly on the screen door. Less than a minute later it opened, revealing a confused Michael Vaughn.  
  
"Claire? What's wrong?"  
  
"Daddy," she whispered tearfully before latching herself into his arms. Momentarily stunned, he slowly embraced her, running his hand over her tangled mass of hair, cradling her softly back and forth as she cried.  
  
What prompted her to come to him was something Michael Vaughn would never ask. Nor could he ever bring himself to wonder how he'd gone from a polite Michael to a tearful Daddy in a span of just a few days. Not that it mattered. From that moment on, Michael Vaughn was Claire O'Neal's father. Much to his relief, Alex was never bothered by her choice of endearments or by the new bond the two seemed to share. In fact she seemed to support it. Perhaps because of all that Claire was going through, how she had to finish graduate school, prepare for a baby along with a new job and care for an increasingly ill husband, the least Alex could do was share her father.  
  
During their short stay in California, Claire admitted to having no other option than to accept her mother's offer. Sydney would fly out in early September to help care for the baby, and it was Vaughn who took care of the necessary steps to ensure that Claire's job would be there. There was no need for her to work while she was pregnant and sick, any time unecessarily spent away from Bryce would be something she'd always regret - it was a form of pain that Michael Vaughn had spent years battling. Now he had the opportunity to at least lessen some of the pain Claire would inevitably feel, and no moon was too heavy to move to see that it happened.  
  
That summer hadn't been an entire wash of grief. In August Alex flew out to the suburb of D.C. where Claire and Bryce lived for her long weekend. She'd barely made it to the airport from work on time, relieved to be free of work for a few short days. The program was delightfully demanding, and she enjoyed the authority of which an M.D. brought. Medical school had given her two years of hands on treatment, but she had begun to feel as though she could truly offer a patient more as a doctor. No one had to look over her shoulder anymore, and while the program directors were very observant of their residents, she was slowly gaining more responsibility.  
  
Alex hadn't expected to be greeted by a small party at the O'Neal house. In a rare bubble of energy, Bryce had suggested a small party to celebrate not only the upcoming birth of their child but wanted an excuse to have all of his friend's around. He'd been surprisingly upbeat that weekend, somehow lacking the regular haggard, pale look Alex had grown accustomed to him wearing. One last burst of energy, her medical mind had rationally pointed out, something she didn't dare point out to her already stressed stepsister.  
  
The party had been where she'd met Bobby Nolan. She knew him from late night Sportscenter on the television of the doctor's lounge. A tennis player, he was barely older than she was. On that particular occasion she was struck by his appearance. He'd been gorgeous, tanned and dressed fully in Nike attire. In contrast she'd been pale, having spent far too much time that summer out of the sun and in the hospital hallways. To add insult to injury she'd been wearing the same cotton shorts and sweatshirt for what felt like a week, the cotton sticking to her sweaty, exhausted skin. After all, she'd just flown in from California, and the last thing she'd expected was a party.  
  
Bobby was wonderful, and would later claim he knew he was going to be with her the moment he met her. Somehow Alex doubted it, but she was instantly flattered by his attention. Eventually he would stand the test of time. Unlike the other beau's she had met before him, he understood how she never wanted to get married. As amicable as their divorce had been, Alex had no desire to even risk the chance that she'd end up like her parents. In college she'd even ended a relationship because a boyfriend refused to believe her when she said she truly did not want to get married or have children. Bobby understood, he was a man who would gladly move his sails to suit her breeze. When she wasn't working, she'd follow him around from tennis tournament to tennis tournament. Once he retired and she acquired her own practice, they would buy a house together in California and still be happily living together when her father and stepmother's twentieth anniversary arrived.  
  
Thoughts of any serious relationship, of the eventual oncology residency that she would land at Stanford, were far from her mind that summer day in 2032. The attention had been flattering, and she later learned that Bobby and Bryce had known each other throughout childhood. Both of their father's were influential coaches of different college sports teams, and Bobby had been in town for a nearby tournament and couldn't turn down the offer to see his friend.  
  
Bryce's failing health prevented him from participating in that year's professional basketball season. Sydney arrived around the start of the new school year and did her best to help without interfering in their already established lives. Instead she watched as Claire and Bryce did their best to complete the nursery. With his steady decrease in energy, the task took some time, but the soon-to-be parents proudly showed it to Sydney soon after her arrival. The completion of the nursery was just in time too, as baby O'Neal didn't intend on waiting for her due date to arrive. Instead Juliana Bristow O'Neal was born on the 28th of September, two months shy of her mother's twenty-fifth birthday. She was beautiful, with big chocolate eyes and a head covered in dark brown fuzz, and she was quickly the apple of her father's eye.  
  
His time with his daughter was short lived. They flew out to California that Christmas, just as they always did, and he died in his wife's childhood bed on the last Wednesday of the year. Just like Eric Weiss would years later, he'd gone in his sleep, unaware that anything bad was happening to him.  
  
Vaughn saw to it himself that no one pressured Claire to begin prematurely at the CIA, and no one dared push the young woman, particularly when Jack Bristow died nine weeks later. A man in his eighties, it was no surprise to see him go, but no less of a weight on Claire's already broken soul. Life in Virginia had finally started to take shape in a day to day routine, and Claire had finally convinced her mother to go back to work in California. Instead, mere weeks later it was Claire who once again flew back to California with her baby and stood between her crying mother and grandmother as they set him to rest in what was a decisively private ceremony.  
  
With Jack gone, arrangements had to be once again established for Irina to remain in Seattle. For more reason than one it would have been impractical for Sydney and Vaughn to re-establish their lives there. Instead the number of agents surveying the property was increased and a more advanced microchip was implanted in her body, deep enough that it couldn't be removed but would also do no harm, so they could be certain of her whereabouts at all times. A few times a week an agent would come by to take her out shopping for groceries and other essentials. Sydney could only assume the agents who would be assigned to watch and care for her would be among the more greener agents at the agency. Irina Derevko was at one time a leading member in the game of international espionage, and no one could ever eradicate her crimes, but she was no longer a young woman and the thought of her posing a legitimate threat to anyone's safety was at times amusing.  
  
One phone call would have been enough to land Claire O'Neal a job at the CIA in Los Angeles, but the young mother was determined to at least try life out on her own. Both her mother and stepfather made convincing arguments in an attempt to either let one of them come help her or to stall or even change her career plans. Bryce would have inherited his entire trust when he was thirty, but now it would be split between Claire and Juliana. There was also a significant amount saved from his playing career and what he'd managed to put away during the course of his life. The money wouldn't have been a problem, but she needed to start building her life again. So she returned to the four bedroom home in Arlington, the fixer- upper that she and her late husband had once had grand dreams of restoring. The planning and building and design had all been Bryce's vision, and now all she was left with was a run-down house.  
  
That spring she started part-time at the CIA, leaving her plenty of time to spend with Juliana, who was nearly nine months old. The young infant was put in a nanny's care during the sixteen to twenty hours a week that her mother worked. Meanwhile Alex was busy with her residency and her slowly escalating relationship with Bobby. That was the summer Vaughn took Sydney to Rome, the summer she finally saw the beauty and charm of Trattoria De Nardi. Time hadn't changed any of the little details nor how delicious the food was and she loved it just as he'd predicted she would. Then they strolled the city, enjoying each other and the city during a much-deserved vacation.  
  
Alex, Vaughn and her mother were the only people with Claire when they celebrated Juliana's first birthday. She wobbled and crawled and laughed and was a marvel to her adoring grandparents. Throughout her life Vaughn would always just be Grandpa, not realizing until years later that the man her mother so openly loved and admired had once been a hostile newcomer. On that day, however, the four celebrated quietly with a small cake and a few presents. Nothing too festive, Juliana was too young to remember and Claire was spread too thinly for anything too ornate.  
  
Around Christmas the reporters started coming around again. There was nothing better than a human interest story, and the D.C. papers had a human interest in her. Reporters from all the local papers called, and one even tracked down her office number at the CIA. All were interested in the same thing. A follow up on Bryce O'Neal's beautiful wife and baby, the young family he'd tragically left behind. Claire wasn't interested in being someone's cover story, and even less interested in having to share the personal memories of her seven years with Bryce.  
  
Despite her reservations, that would eventually be how she met Jack. He left not two or three or even four messages on her machine, but a total of a dozen during the course of a week. His persistence paid off, and while she'd originally called to request he leave her alone, his charms segued her into conversation. He'd explained that he was no longer a news reporter, just a freelancer with an idea. Instead of a human interest article, he thought the entire story had the potential to be a book. When she turned down his offer, he suggested coffee, only to be greeted by a dial tone.  
  
As uninterested as she was in being someone's story, the thought of an evening out was tempting. Claire was not interested in men - she hadn't even looked at another since Bryce's death. Instead her days were made up by an infant who was barely getting over colic, making plans to restore a home when the limit of her remodeling knowledge ended at Bob Villa's Home Again and she put in twenty hours a week at a job that required her absolute allegiance to the United States Government. A few hours out of the house without her daughter and away from the office was a nice offer, and when her next door neighbor offered to babysit, she agreed to meet Jack for coffee.  
  
The baby-faced man that greeted her was more compassionate than she dared to hope. Jack had listened to her tell her story without any attempt to record the conversation or even take notes. Claire's concerns about the situation were numerous, but coffee went from a one-time thing to a weekly event in a matter of a few short months. At first she'd been uninterested in anything but disposing herself of his persistence, and he'd only wanted a story. That all slowly changed as she came to trust him more and more. To her surprise Jack was actually eleven years older than she was, although he hardly looked it. Human interest was not his normal writing area - he'd been a political journalist and had seen countries she'd only read about on expense reports or financial statements. Jack was equally fascinated by her job - or what she could tell him of it. Claire O'Neal was, after all, a CIA employee who was newly minted as a full time employee and had a quickly rising security clearance.  
  
A country away, Sydney was the one who was finally learning a lesson as Claire and Jack's love slowly bloomed. Watching her own daughter's agony had prompted her to tell Claire about Danny. Until then she had been unaware that her mother had been engaged before, not only to her father but to a man who had been dead for decades. She shared what a wonderful man Danny was, how his death had changed her into the woman she was. While her mother wove the story, even as she watched the memories run down her tear- streaked face, it was still plain to see that somehow her mother would have eventually ended up with Michael Vaughn.  
  
Claire was moving on. She had mourned; now she needed to rebuild her life. Observing Claire, feeling her grief the way only a parent could, Sydney finally understood Vaughn's actions so many years earlier. How he'd somehow managed to find someone else and fall in love, yet kept true to his love of her, even when she hadn't seen it. There was no reason for her daughter to be embarrassed or even ashamed of moving on. The summer Sydney retired from her post as chair of the English department, they flew out to Washington just days after her retirement party. She'd sat in the front row, smiling as a bashful Juliana walked down the aisle with a basket of petals, a beautiful little girl about to start second grade. Then she'd stood and beamed at the sight before her, Claire smiling up at the man she had adopted as her father as she walked down the aisle for the second time.  
  
There would be no children from that union, although it was nothing short of fruitful. Jack cared for Juliana as though she was his own daughter, much in the same manner that Vaughn loved Claire, but the little girl never confused him for her father. He helped ensure that the tiny family of three lived a comfortable life. He moved them from the fixer-upper that had never been fixed into a comfortable home in a newly built cul de sac near Langley. In the afternoons he'd be there to pick up Juliana and take her to whatever playdate or after school curricular that took up her schedule. Before their marriage he'd returned to writing full time, and would eventually become a political novelist to the scope of Richard North Patterson.  
  
The new house was finally settled and Juliana had begun to adjust to life with her new stepfather when the phone call came. Ironically it was Alex who'd somehow been handed the assignment of making the long distance call to Virginia. Irina Derevko, the woman Alex had only known as Jack Bristow's second wife and Sydney Vaughn's stepmother, was in her nineties by then. It had been Vaughn who set up her home health care when her health began to seriously decline, more out of a need to keep her out of his home than out of concern for his mother-in-law. Even with the best of in-home care, no one lived forever, not even the seemingly indestructible retired spy formerly known as "The Man". So when she'd ended up in a Seattle hospital, it had somehow landed in Alex's lap to call her stepsister.  
  
Sydney understandably wanted her only daughter by her side, and by the next morning Claire sat in the dim hospital room with her mother as Vaughn sat quietly in the corner of the room, his jet lagged granddaughter in his lap. The eldest Bristow woman had been in and out of consciousness since Vaughn and Sydney had arrived from Northern California. When she opened her brown eyes and landed on Claire, she slowly smiled at her only grandchild. To the surprise of all in the room, she then managed to ask to speak to Claire alone. With a silent assurance that she'd handle everything, Claire nodded at her parents and daughter as they left the room.  
  
Claire was unaware of how much time was past as her grandmother wove her story. To her it sounded more like a fairy tale or bad spy movie than anything that happened in real life. She'd always known her mother had worked for the government, something she'd assumed included reconnaissance or perhaps a mission or two, but the scope of espionage that her grandmother shared seemed impossible. People weren't spies - people didn't truly live their lives like that, not the way she saw it. Claire wasn't foolish enough to believe that people couldn't spend years as a spy and decades in the intelligence world, but her heart shattered over and over as she listened to her grandmother's confession. Irina Derevko was not only the sweet, loving, devoted grandmother she'd always known. In her there was also a darker side, far darker than she could have ever imagined. There was a woman who ran an international espionage ring for years . . . a highly intelligent woman who claimed to have faked her own death leaving behind a devoted husband and young daughter . . . a woman who killed the father of the only man Claire would ever call Daddy.  
  
For an ever-brief period of time, as she stepped from the dark room into the fluorescent hallway, she reasoned that her grandmother was imagining things. Irina surely had taken bits and pieces of what she'd heard over the years and in her deteriorated state, her mind had confused her. Except when she explained the story to her mother, the tears pooled in her mother's eye and Claire felt her heart stop. There was no confusion - for a woman in her nineties, Irina was surprisingly lucid and still held a sharp eye for detail. She'd done everything she'd confessed and most likely more. She'd abandoned her family, killed dozens of agents of the CIA, betrayed the government that Claire had sworn to spend her life working for . . . The only response, the only refuge Claire could find in the dim hospital cafeteria was her father's arms, as he held her close and softly struggled to keep the newly discovered demons at bay.  
  
Irina Derevko was buried less than a week later, her given name placed on the tombstone beside her late husband as her body rested next to his. The ceremony was small and private, the remaining Bristows standing arm to arm. It was impossible not to notice Claire's mood that day, her obvious withdrawl from the rest of the families grief. Only time would allow her to come to terms with all that her grandmother had confessed, a truth about a life that she would never again repeat to another soul. The burden was enough for her without telling Juliana. Eventually she would come to grips with the truth, but the ache of knowing how much pain her grandmother had caused the Vaughn's would never completely disappear.  
  
Alex had brought Bobby to the funeral services, holding the hand of the retired tennis star as the family said their final goodbye. To Alex, Irina Derevko had only been a woman she'd see during holidays, a woman who made good food and told interesting stories. While she was close to Bobby's mother, she always detected a nearly palpable dislike for the woman from her father, but never dared ask why. Even though Michael Vaughn obviously disdained the now buried woman, he'd always been polite and courteous, dealing with her for no other reason than his love for Sydney and Claire.  
  
Sitting in his family room on that early fall day, Vaughn realized that Irina's funeral nearly six years ago was the last time they'd all truly been together before that day of celebration. Now a doctor with her own practice, Alex was highly regarded as one of the top experts on ovarian cancer. Claire was no longer a little girl in stained overalls or even a college field goalie, but instead she held a high ranking position at the CIA, occasionally traveling for work but most of the time overseeing and deciphering the economic relations of the countries allies and enemies. And even Juliana was no longer a baby. That fall she'd started high school and turned fourteen. Most of her summers she'd come out for a week or two and be thoroughly spoiled by her grandparents. Vaughn had vivid, beloved memories of Juliana growing up. On more than one occasion he'd walked into a room to find Sydney and their tiny granddaughter cuddled up and sleeping, having fallen asleep watching a movie or reading a book, a sight that he was certain Sydney had seen as well.  
  
Through the joys of grandparenting, Juliana allowed them the luxury of something they never had, of parenting together, even if it was as grandparents for a few weeks a year. They taught her hockey and how to hit a ball off a tee; Sydney taught her how to grow a garden and create some of the more traditional Russian dishes while thanks to her beloved grandfather, Juliana was the only kindergartner in her class who knew Spanish, English and French. During their visits they'd take her to the local zoo and would spend hours at the playground, and Sydney loved nothing more than when an unknowing stranger would comment on how much Juliana resembled her grandfather.  
  
When they didn't have Juliana, their time was theirs alone, something that still felt like a luxury even after all these years. They did work around the house together, making sure things were to their liking both inside and outside. Sydney baked with an expertise and grace that still surprised him. With their close proximity to Humboldt State University, they still stayed relatively involved in the school. Once in awhile one of them would give a lecture or a speech, and they were familiar faces around the athletic facilities. Occasionally they'd travel allowing Sydney to see the world not as a government operative but with the man she'd wanted to spend forever with.  
  
His thoughts were broken as he heard footsteps rapidly descending the staircase. Slowly he stood, adjusting his dark suit jacket as Claire rounded the corner. "Are we ready?"  
  
Claire stopped in her tracks, a nearly mirror image of her mother at a younger age. The lilac dress she wore was simple but beautiful, the first glimpse he'd had at what any of the women would be wearing that day. "Daddy, be patient. It's almost time. Mom's almost ready," she smiled sweetly and rolled her eyes, retreating to the kitchen. Just to itch at his curiosity, she went around through the kitchen and living room to get up the back stairs bypassing the family room and leaving him to wonder what she'd needed to retrieve.  
  
"You asked her to marry you. Hell, you've already married her. Shouldn't the nervous part be over?" Jack inquired, sitting next to his stepfather-in- law on the sofa.  
  
"Haven't you done this twice too?" Bobby questioned.  
  
"Yes, I've done this twice before . . . But I've never done this before," Vaughn explained to the younger men.  
  
"I think Claire's spent the last six weeks telling everyone she works with about it. Every woman I hear her tell always says it's sweet," Jack explained.  
  
"You've already done this. You know how it goes, you've written down what you're going to say, there's no reason to panic," the former tennis star reminded. Vaughn paused to look over at the younger man, biting back the reminder that he'd yet to make an honest woman out of his little girl.  
  
"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" Jack added.  
  
"No," he smirked. "I would never have second thoughts . . . I just want this to be perfect for Sydney."  
  
"I know it's nerve-racking, but I'm sure once we get started and you look at Sydney, it'll be easy," his stepson in law assured him.  
  
"I know," he smiled sincerely in the younger mans direction as they slipped into silence, Vaughn struggling to detect any movement above them.  
  
"What's so funny?" Alexandra inquired as Claire slipped back into the bedroom, her grin reminiscent of a Cheshire cat.  
  
"Daddy's so nervous, I think he thought I went downstairs to get something for mom," she conceded as she handed her stepsister a soda.  
  
"But you went down to get Aunt Ally a soda," Juliana pointed out, sitting cross-legged on the bed and desperately trying not to undo the nearly forty- five minutes of work her mother had insisted on doing to her hair.  
  
"That's the funny part," Claire clarified.  
  
"What's wrong with Vaughn?" Sydney questioned, the concern evident in her voice as she finally stepped out of her walk in closet, her preparations for the day complete.  
  
"Oh mom," Claire sighed, feeling the tears tickle the corners of her eyes. Silently she looped her arm through that of her older stepsister, resting her temple against Alex's arm.  
  
"You look very pretty Nanny," Juliana approved.  
  
"Sydney . . . You look so beautiful," Alex softly agreed.  
  
"You all look beautiful," Sydney replied. "You don't think I'm a little overdone?" she asked with caution.  
  
"I think you look like a princess," Juliana insisted. "Or maybe a queen . . . "  
  
"I'm sure Dad's going to love it."  
  
"Claire?" she asked as her daughter smiled.  
  
"Mom . . . You look perfect."  
  
"What about the flowers?"  
  
"Alex brought them up," Claire explained, dropping her stepsister's arm and accepting them from her daughter. A moment later she was handing the simple bouquet of bluebells and forget-me-nots to her mother. Sydney paused for a moment, watching the dim bedroom light bounce off of the pendant around her neck, the diamond that Bryce had given her seventeen years ago that, like the love she had for the man who had given it to her, she'd never been able to fully part with.  
  
"I'll go tell everyone that we're just about ready," Alex offered. "C'mon kiddo, come with me," she urged Juliana, who slipped off of the bed. Then, smiling at the remaining two women, Alex and Juliana slipped out, allowing mother and daughter a moment of privacy.  
  
Sydney turned and studied her daughter, reaching out to brush a stray hair off of her face, an instinct of motherhood that she never outgrew. Claire smiled at her mother as the elder woman softly broke the silence, "are you okay?" she questioned.  
  
"Some days I miss him more than others . . . I think that's healthy though. That it's good, that I haven't forgotten . . . "  
  
"You're never going to forget."  
  
"How can I when I see Juliana everyday and not think of how proud he'd be?"  
  
"I'm so proud of you sweetheart," Sydney sighed, pulling her daughter into a hug. "I am. I'm so proud of you, of how brave you've been . . . of how you've handled everything. I don't think I tell you that enough."  
  
"I know mom, I know," she assured her. "So," she pulled back and grinned, "this guy going to make you happy?" she teased.  
  
Sydney laughed, wiping away her daughter's tears before drying her own. "The only other thing that's ever made me this happy is you Tinkerbelle, but you're all grown up and it's no longer your job to make me happy . . ."  
  
"I couldn't have chosen anyone better for you," she conceded. "There are times when I envy Juliana . . . When I envy Alex, because they always had him around. They had him to teach them how to ride a bike and play baseball . . . But I had you," Claire continued, gently squeezing her mother's hand. "I had you, and it was just us, and part of me loved that . . . Loved how it was just us and for so long it seemed like no one else could ever break into our family, which felt really special," she conceded. "I'm glad daddy and Alex were able to though," she sighed. "There are times now when I think I'm even luckier than Alex is. I got to choose who I call my daddy."  
  
"Yeah," Sydney agreed with a soft smile, "you did."  
  
"Okay, they're ready," Alex announced as she slid into the room, smiling at the two of them. "Are we?"  
  
"I think so," Sydney spoke as her daughter silently nodded.  
  
"Here Al, your flowers," Claire remembered, handing the blonde a smaller bouquet of lilacs similar to her own.  
  
The four silently descended down the stairs with Juliana leading the way. As they stepped into the family room they felt the mild October breeze slipping through the open French doors. Meanwhile the other half of the small party was visible, all of them sans Vaughn were waiting anxiously on the deck. Instead Vaughn stood at the French doors, prepared to walk her out to join their guests. Despite the unquestionable beauty that his two daughters, and the angelic pose that Juliana seemed to carry despite the mischief he knew she could cause, he suspected nothing was capable of drawing his eyes from Sydney at that moment. The moment he met her brown eyes from his place on the deck, any worries he had disappeared, just as they had twenty years ago. Instead all he could do was smile at her, the soft gleam in his eyes and the curve of his lips reserved just for her.  
  
Juliana was the first to reach the deck, going to stand next to her adopted father as her aunt and mother joined them, the sun starting to warm their skin. They all waited patiently as Sydney reached Vaughn's side, smiling at him as she easily slipped her arm through his. Together they made their way across the compact deck to reach the celebrant. Sydney let go of his arm and took a moment to hand her small bouquet to her daughter before she easily slipped her hands into his, amazed at how sweet the feeling still was after so many years.  
  
The celebrant cleared his throat, the warm sun starting to cause him to sweat as he composed himself. Public speaking had never been his forte, but since there was no need for a legal observant of their vows, he couldn't turn Sydney down when she asked him to do this for them. "Hi," he started as Claire had to hold back a laugh, all the signs of a potential Will Tippin nervous breakdown becoming increasingly obvious. "As I'm sure you all know, today we are here to celebrate the twentieth wedding anniversary of two of the best friends I've ever known. I couldn't be happier to be standing here today and I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say I feel blessed to be a part of this," he conceded to his friends. "As I understand it, both Claire and Alex had something they wanted to read?"  
  
"Right," Claire confirmed, taking half a step forward, the color rising in her cheeks. "I found this . . . a long time ago now," she conceded, motioning to the single sheet of paper in her hands. "It was right after mom told me that dad had just reappeared in her life out of nowhere. . . . I don't know what made me copy it and keep it, but I did, and from the moment I first read it . . . It made me think about you. About both of you, and everything you've gone through and how you must have felt . . . Anyway," she smiled. "It's Helen MacInnes, from Friends and Lovers  
  
Every day I am away from you, I keep imagining you as I last saw you. I keep remembering how wonderful, how truly wonderful, you are. Then I meet you again, and you look the way you do, and you speak, and your eyes light up for me; and I realize that when I was thinking of you, wanting you, I never had imagined how wonderful you really are. You are better than any dreams of you.  
  
Claire finished, quickly hiding her tears with a swipe of her thumb. "Your turn," she whispered softly in Alex's direction, her older stepsister chuckling as Claire stepped back into her original position.  
  
The wind picked up, blowing Alex's hair briefly in front of her face before she smiled at her father and stepmother. "I picked something a bit traditional. I know it's a bit common, but I like it," she clarified. "It's an except from Kahlil Gibran on marriage," she stated before taking a moment and beginning.  
  
Then Almirta spoke again and said, and what of Marriage Master? And he answered saying: You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore. You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days. Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God. But let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heaven dance between you. Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not of the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together yet not too near together: For the pilars of the temples stand apart, and the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.  
  
Will smiled at the younger woman, someone he often considered an adoptive niece. She'd already been in college when her father had married his long time best friend, but Will and Alex formed a genuine bond, sharing a correspondence of Christmas cards and birthday wishes in between bi-weekly e-mails. "Those were beautiful," he reassured the younger women before he refocused on the honored guests. "Michael?"  
  
Vaughn met Sydney's eyes, looking briefly down at the wedding band that had rested on her finger for two decades now. There were moments when it felt surreal, when he wondered if he'd wake up to find he'd just lost her in the apartment fire or that he was in bed with Kate, being awoken at an absurd hour by a painful phone call sending him across the world to Hong Kong, where he knew he'd be forced to break her heart and shatter her world. "Syd . . . " he sighed, brushing his fingers lightly over her palm. "You've been my wife for twenty years now, and the most influential person in my life for forty-five years. None of it's been easy Syd . . .. You made my heart stop Syd, and I never wanted it to start again. Once you made me promise never to promise you happily ever after, and I never will Syd, because everything we went through only made the past twenty years more incredible. You have made me the happiest I've ever been - you've made our time together the best part of my life. I promise to give you everything I have for the past twenty years - my unending respect, admiration, friendship, trust and love. I swear I'll do everything I can to make what was only okay good and what was good about our lives great. Just remember Syd, even when I fall, even during the days and moments when I do something stupid that hurts you or upsets you, that I always love you Syd. Always."  
  
"I love you," she whispered as he slipped a ring onto her right ring finger. Instead of the traditional three diamond ring to represent past, present and future, he'd chosen a family ring, with both of their birthstones as well as the birthstones of Alex, Claire and Juliana. After twenty years, it only seemed appropriate. "My turn?" she softly questioned Will, who grinned widely and nodded. "Vaughn . . . I love you. Maybe it shouldn't be that simple, but it always has been. Even when I didn't like you, I loved you . . . I've always thought you were more eloquent than I am, whenever I tried to tell you how I felt, I always managed to push you away or hurt both of us, even when I knew it was in our best interest . . . You've given me some of the best moments of my life. Thank you for that, thank you for never giving up on me and for coming back and giving us the second chance I thought we'd never have. We've had twenty years together now, some of the best years of my life, and I promise to try to make the rest of our life just as good."  
  
Vaughn smiled, pulling Sydney's hand up to briefly brush a kiss across her skin. After a few moments, Will reluctantly broke the spell, saying a few well-recited words to the couple. Despite his carefully written speech and the unnatural eloquence at which he delivered it, neither really noticed it. After Will's short speech, the small group of family that had congregated broke out into an understated but respectful applause as Vaughn leaned down and kissed her.  
  
There were white and silver balloons - Juliana's idea - tied to the deck on that October day. A simple white sheet cake was divided on the kitchen table, courtesy of Bobby and Alex. Sydney stepped out of the downstairs bathroom and inspected the sight in front of her. The cake was half eaten and through the back screen door she could see her family. Will was deep in conversation with Jack, likely questioning him of his intentions despite the fact that he'd been married to her little girl for over five years. Claire was a few feet away from her husband, sitting on the deck steps with Alex, both nursing crystal flutes of champagne and talking. Matt sat on the step behind the two women, eating cake off of a china plate and listening contently to their conversation. Juliana ran rampant through the yard, not caring if she soiled her lilac dress. Her primary concern for the moment was throwing a frisbee and seeing how many times Toby, a Golden Retriever who would be the only child Alex and Bobby would ever have, would bring it back to her.  
  
Sydney felt him approaching before his arm wrapped loosely around her waist. Before she'd gone to the bathroom, he'd slipped away upstairs to discard his tie and suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up a quarter of the way to reveal his lower arms, still tanned and toned despite his years. Instinct allowed her to immediately relax against him, teasing the light dusting of blonde hairs that lined his arms and rest her head back against his shoulder. "Happy anniversary," he whispered, kissing her temple before meeting her lips for a sweet kiss.  
  
"Love you," she softly replied as they broke their kiss. Vaughn smiled at her, looking briefly at her wedding ring in well-hidden awe, before pulling her close. In silence they watched their family enjoy a mild October day, unaware that they were watching. 


End file.
